newyorker--2020-04-03--The Coronavirus Is Transforming Politics and Economics

In early March , when health experts warned that the United States risked running short of vital medical supplies , such as masks and ventilators , Donald Trump resisted calls to invoke the Defense Production Act , a 1950 law that gives the President broad powers to prioritize the production of certain items when they become important for national security .
As recently as last week , he said , “ We don ’ t need it.
” Finally , on Thursday , Trump dropped the pretense and invoked the act to order the suppliers of ventilator manufacturers to give @ @ @ @ @ @ @ up production .
Every day , in ways small and large , the spread of the coronavirus is reshaping American politics .
As the death toll rises and the economic fallout spreads , measures once considered unthinkable are being adopted , and not just in the public-health sphere .
The $ 2.2 trillion emergency spending bill that Congress passed last week is worth about ten per cent of G.D.P.
, and in the coming months we are likely to see another stimulus .
This dramatic ramp-up in federal spending is comparable to what @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Pearl Harbor , when federal spending as a share of G.D.P .
rose by more than ten percentage points .
Trump is no F.D.R.
, of course , and the virus , unlike the Axis Powers , is an invisible enemy .
But the record shows that lethal pandemics and major wars can both have enormous political and economic consequences .
In his 2017 opus “ The Great Leveler , ” Walter Scheidel , a Stanford historian , described them as two of the “ four horsemen ” that have flattened economic inequality @ @ @ @ @ @ @ two levelling forces that Scheidel identified were revolutions and state failures . )
By decimating the population of medieval Europe , the Black Death made labor scarce , which raised wages and undermined the feudal system .
The Civil War abolished slavery and gave rise to the Homestead Act of 1862 .
The First World War changed the role of women in the economy and paved the way for their political emancipation .
The Second World War elevated the role of labor unions and led to the explicit adoption of Keynesian full-employment policies @ @ @ @ @ @ @ In Europe , it facilitated the creation of a postwar welfare state , including the National Health Service in Britain .
These violent ruptures lasted years .
We can hope that this horrible public-health crisis will also be temporary .
And yet , the “ wartime ” metaphor is in many ways apt .
Daily life has been transformed ; in just two weeks , almost ten million Americans have filed unemployment claims ; and earlier this week a White House task force said the death toll could eventually reach two hundred and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , people are frightened , public attitudes are changing , and the circumstances are necessitating a big expansion of the government ’ s role .
As of today , tens of millions of small and medium-sized firms will be able to take out bank loans to cover all of their running costs , including wages and rent , for the next eight weeks .
If they keep their workers on the books , or rehire the ones they have laid off in the past couple of weeks , the Treasury Department will automatically @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ( I wrote about the scheme earlier this week . )
The involvement of banks disguises the fact that this is essentially a huge , federal grant program , in which Uncle Sam will be paying the wages of tens of millions of Americans who are nominally private-sector employees .
For a conservative Republican Administration , this is a strikingly interventionist move .
But it doesn ’ t cover large corporations , and there are doubts about how quickly and widely the loans will be taken up .
( The initial reports aren @ @ @ @ @ @ @ jobless count keeps rising , pressure will grow for the Administration to go further and copy the emergency job-protection programs that many European countries have adopted , which encompass businesses of all sizes and involve the government paying them directly .
In other policy areas , too , the Overton window—the range of political options considered acceptable—is expanding .
The rapid passage of such a big stimulus , with more to come probably , has punctured the idea , assiduously promoted by deficit hawks , that we “ can ’ t afford ” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ additional spending , the U.S. Treasury is still able to borrow on remarkably favorable terms : on Thursday , the yield on ten-year Treasury bonds was just 0.63 per cent .
And as a backstop , there is the Federal Reserve , with its electronic printing press at the ready .
You don ’ t have to be a convert to Modern Monetary Theory to have noted the alacrity with which the Fed , over the past month , has purchased and placed on its balance sheet about $ 1.5 trillion worth of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ issued by large corporations , mortgage-backed securities , auto loans , and credit-card loans .
In the coming days , it may well start lending directly to big corporations .
As the Fed constructs a comprehensive safety net for Wall Street and corporate America , how can anyone argue against an equally comprehensive approach to safeguarding the welfare of medical workers , delivery-truck drivers , grocery-store employees , and other ordinary Americans on the front line of the battle to contain COVID-19 ?
The public at large may not grasp some of the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the urgent need for universal health care .
According to a poll published by Morning Consult earlier this week , net support for Medicare for All—those who support it minus those who oppose it—has risen by nine points .
The virus isn ’ t just raising support for socialized medicine ; it is also undermining the finances of the private-insurance model .
Caring for COVID-19 patients can be very costly .
If the insurers have to recoup these costs next year , they could raise their 2021 premiums by more than forty per @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Covered California , the Golden State ’ s official health-insurance marketplace .
Though Elizabeth Warren is out of the Democratic primary and it would be a huge surprise for Bernie Sanders to secure the Party ’ s nomination , they could well end up winning the debate over health-care policy .
In another important development , the mass layoffs that have resulted from the virus have also laid bare the iniquities of the gig economy , in which Uber drivers and other online-platform workers , temp-agency workers , and a whole variety of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ health insurance , sick leave , or unemployment insurance .
During an appearance on CNBC on Thursday , the investor James Chanos said he was selling short the stocks of gig-economy companies because their business model , which is based on classifying workers as self-employed to avoid giving them costly benefits , is likely to be challenged .
“ I think both political parties are going to be looking at that pretty hard , ” Chanos said .
Much depends on the duration of the pandemic , of course .
If the associated @ @ @ @ @ @ @ three months—the economy and the markets could rebound fairly rapidly .
Congress and the Fed could wind down their emergency programs , and public attitudes could flip back .
But the longer the pandemic goes on , and the deadlier it becomes , the greater the pressure will be for more government activism of various forms .

In early March, when health experts warned that the United States risked running short of vital medical supplies, such as masks and ventilators, Donald Trump resisted calls to invoke the Defense Production Act, a 1950 law that gives the President broad powers to prioritize the production of certain items when they become important for national security. As recently as last week, he said, “We don’t need it.” Finally, on Thursday, Trump dropped the pretense and invoked the act to order the suppliers of ventilator manufacturers to give them the components they need to speed up production.
Every day, in ways small and large, the spread of the coronavirus is reshaping American politics. As the death toll rises and the economic fallout spreads, measures once considered unthinkable are being adopted, and not just in the public-health sphere. The $2.2 trillion emergency spending bill that Congress passed last week is worth about ten per cent of G.D.P., and in the coming months we are likely to see another stimulus. This dramatic ramp-up in federal spending is comparable to what happened in 1942, the year after Pearl Harbor, when federal spending as a share of G.D.P. rose by more than ten percentage points.
Trump is no F.D.R., of course, and the virus, unlike the Axis Powers, is an invisible enemy. But the record shows that lethal pandemics and major wars can both have enormous political and economic consequences. In his 2017 opus “The Great Leveler,” Walter Scheidel, a Stanford historian, described them as two of the “four horsemen” that have flattened economic inequality throughout human history. (The other two levelling forces that Scheidel identified were revolutions and state failures.) By decimating the population of medieval Europe, the Black Death made labor scarce, which raised wages and undermined the feudal system. The Civil War abolished slavery and gave rise to the Homestead Act of 1862. The First World War changed the role of women in the economy and paved the way for their political emancipation. The Second World War elevated the role of labor unions and led to the explicit adoption of Keynesian full-employment policies, through the 1946 Employment Act. In Europe, it facilitated the creation of a postwar welfare state, including the National Health Service in Britain.
These violent ruptures lasted years. We can hope that this horrible public-health crisis will also be temporary. And yet, the “wartime” metaphor is in many ways apt. Daily life has been transformed; in just two weeks, almost ten million Americans have filed unemployment claims; and earlier this week a White House task force said the death toll could eventually reach two hundred and forty thousand. Just like in wartime, people are frightened, public attitudes are changing, and the circumstances are necessitating a big expansion of the government’s role.
As of today, tens of millions of small and medium-sized firms will be able to take out bank loans to cover all of their running costs, including wages and rent, for the next eight weeks. If they keep their workers on the books, or rehire the ones they have laid off in the past couple of weeks, the Treasury Department will automatically repay the loans in their entirety. (I wrote about the scheme earlier this week.) The involvement of banks disguises the fact that this is essentially a huge, federal grant program, in which Uncle Sam will be paying the wages of tens of millions of Americans who are nominally private-sector employees. For a conservative Republican Administration, this is a strikingly interventionist move. But it doesn’t cover large corporations, and there are doubts about how quickly and widely the loans will be taken up. (The initial reports aren’t encouraging.) If the jobless count keeps rising, pressure will grow for the Administration to go further and copy the emergency job-protection programs that many European countries have adopted, which encompass businesses of all sizes and involve the government paying them directly.
In other policy areas, too, the Overton window—the range of political options considered acceptable—is expanding. The rapid passage of such a big stimulus, with more to come probably, has punctured the idea, assiduously promoted by deficit hawks, that we “can’t afford” more government programs. Despite all the additional spending, the U.S. Treasury is still able to borrow on remarkably favorable terms: on Thursday, the yield on ten-year Treasury bonds was just 0.63 per cent. And as a backstop, there is the Federal Reserve, with its electronic printing press at the ready.
You don’t have to be a convert to Modern Monetary Theory to have noted the alacrity with which the Fed, over the past month, has purchased and placed on its balance sheet about $1.5 trillion worth of Treasury bonds, commercial paper and bonds issued by large corporations, mortgage-backed securities, auto loans, and credit-card loans. In the coming days, it may well start lending directly to big corporations. As the Fed constructs a comprehensive safety net for Wall Street and corporate America, how can anyone argue against an equally comprehensive approach to safeguarding the welfare of medical workers, delivery-truck drivers, grocery-store employees, and other ordinary Americans on the front line of the battle to contain COVID-19?
The public at large may not grasp some of the financial intricacies, but it surely sees the urgent need for universal health care. According to a poll published by Morning Consult earlier this week, net support for Medicare for All—those who support it minus those who oppose it—has risen by nine points. The virus isn’t just raising support for socialized medicine; it is also undermining the finances of the private-insurance model. Caring for COVID-19 patients can be very costly. If the insurers have to recoup these costs next year, they could raise their 2021 premiums by more than forty per cent, according to an analysis by Covered California, the Golden State’s official health-insurance marketplace. Though Elizabeth Warren is out of the Democratic primary and it would be a huge surprise for Bernie Sanders to secure the Party’s nomination, they could well end up winning the debate over health-care policy.
In another important development, the mass layoffs that have resulted from the virus have also laid bare the iniquities of the gig economy, in which Uber drivers and other online-platform workers, temp-agency workers, and a whole variety of freelancers didn’t have access to health insurance, sick leave, or unemployment insurance. During an appearance on CNBC on Thursday, the investor James Chanos said he was selling short the stocks of gig-economy companies because their business model, which is based on classifying workers as self-employed to avoid giving them costly benefits, is likely to be challenged. “I think both political parties are going to be looking at that pretty hard,” Chanos said.
Much depends on the duration of the pandemic, of course. If the associated shutdowns prove to be reasonably short-lived—two or three months—the economy and the markets could rebound fairly rapidly. Congress and the Fed could wind down their emergency programs, and public attitudes could flip back. But the longer the pandemic goes on, and the deadlier it becomes, the greater the pressure will be for more government activism of various forms.


newyorker--2020-04-03--Exploitation in the Amazon, and Why We Underestimated COVID-19

Despite the warnings of politicians and health-care professionals , many have failed to treat the coronavirus pandemic as a serious @ @ @ @ @ a Nobel Prize-winning expert on human behavior , speaks with Maria Konnikova about why the @ @ @ @ @ intuitive comprehension .
Plus : Jon Lee Anderson reports from Brazil , where Jair Bolsonaro @ @ @ @ @ to allow commercial mining in the Amazon , despite the harm that it will bring @ @ @ @ @ live there .
And Jelani Cobb speaks with DJ D-Nice about his Instagram Live party @ @ @ @ @ attracted hundreds of thousands of socially distanced attendees .
Daniel Kahneman , a Nobel Prize-winning @ @ @ @ @ on the reasons that so many people failed to take the coronavirus seriously .
Jon @ @ @ @ @ Bolsonaro ’ s push to allow commercial mining on protected lands , and the harm @ @ @ @ @ ’ s indigenous groups .
The story of an Instagram Live party that attracted hundreds @ @ @ @ @ , Bernie Sanders , Joe Biden , and Drake .

Illustration by Golden Cosmos
Despite the warnings of politicians and health-care professionals, many have failed to treat the coronavirus pandemic as a serious danger. Daniel Kahneman, a Nobel Prize-winning expert on human behavior, speaks with Maria Konnikova about why the threat posed by COVID-19 defies intuitive comprehension. Plus: Jon Lee Anderson reports from Brazil, where Jair Bolsonaro’s government is pushing to allow commercial mining in the Amazon, despite the harm that it will bring to the indigenous groups who live there. And Jelani Cobb speaks with DJ D-Nice about his Instagram Live party, Club Quarantine, which attracted hundreds of thousands of socially distanced attendees.
Why We Underestimated COVID-19
Daniel Kahneman, a Nobel Prize-winning expert on human behavior, on the reasons that so many people failed to take the coronavirus seriously.
Exploitation in the Amazon
Jon Lee Anderson reports on Jair Bolsonaro’s push to allow commercial mining on protected lands, and the harm it will do to Brazil’s indigenous groups.
Inside DJ D-Nice’s Club Quarantine
The story of an Instagram Live party that attracted hundreds of thousands of people—including Rihanna, Bernie Sanders, Joe Biden, and Drake.


newyorker--2020-04-03--A Letter to My Students as We Face the Pandemic

Jeez , what a hard and depressing and scary time .
So much suffering and anxiety everywhere .
( I saw this bee happily buzzing around a flower yesterday and felt like , Moron !
If you only knew ! )
But it also occurs to me that this is when the world needs our eyes and ears and minds .
This has never happened before here ( at least not since 1918 ) .
We are ( and especially you are ) the generation that is going to have to help us make sense of this and recover afterward @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , to fictionalize an event like this , where all of the drama is happening in private , essentially ?
Are you keeping records of the e-mails and texts you ’ re getting , the thoughts you ’ re having , the way your hearts and minds are reacting to this strange new way of living ?
It ’ s all important .
Fifty years from now , people the age you are now won ’ t believe this ever happened ( or will do the sort of eye roll we all do @ @ @ @ @ @ @ crazy thing that happened in 1970 . )
What will convince that future kid is what you are able to write about this , and what you ’ re able to write about it will depend on how much sharp attention you are paying now , and what records you keep .
Also , I think , with how open you can keep your heart .
I ’ m trying to practice feeling something like , “ Ah , so this is happening now , ” or “ Hmm , so this , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Earth .
Did not know that , universe .
Thanks so much , stinker.
” And then I real quick try to pretend that I didn ’ t just call the universe a “ stinker.
” I did a piece once where I went to live incognito in a homeless camp in Fresno for a week .
Very intense , but the best thing I heard in there was from this older guy from Guatemala , who was always saying , “ Everything is always keep changing.
” Truer words were never spoken @ @ @ @ @ @ @ expect solidity—non-change—that we get taken by surprise .
( And we always expect solidity , no matter how well we know better . )
Well , this is all sounding a little preachy , and let me confess that I ’ m not taking my own advice .
At all .
It ’ s all happening so fast .
Paula has what we are hoping is just a bad cold , and I am doing a lot of inept caregiving .
Our dogs can feel that something weird is going on .
( @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” ) But I guess what I ’ m trying to say is that the world is like a sleeping tiger and we tend to live our lives there on its back .
( We ’ re much smaller than the tiger , obviously .
We ’ re like Barbies and Kens on the back of a tiger . )
And now and then that tiger wakes up .
And that is terrifying .
Sometimes it wakes up and someone we love dies .
Or someone breaks our heart .
Or there ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ far from the first time that tiger has come awake .
He/she has been doing it since the beginning of time and will never stop doing it .
And always there have been writers to observe it and ( later ) make some sort of sense of it , or at least bear witness to it .
It ’ s good for the world for a writer to bear witness , and it ’ s good for the writer , too .
Especially if she can bear witness with love and humor and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ for the world , just as it is manifesting , warts and all .
All of this is to say : there ’ s still work to be done , and now more than ever .
There ’ s a beautiful story about the Russian poet Anna Akhmatova .
Her son was arrested during the Stalinist purges .
One day , she was standing outside the prison with hundreds of other women in similar situations .
It ’ s Russian-cold and they have to go there every day , wait for hours in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the answer that , today and every day , there will be no news .
But every day they keep coming back .
A woman , recognizing her as the famous poet , says , “ Poet , can you write this ?
” And Akhmatova thinks about it a second and goes : “ Yes.
” I wish you all the best during this crazy period .
Someday soon , things will be back to some sort of normal , and it will be easier to be happy again .
I believe @ @ @ @ @ @ @ one of you .
I look forward to seeing you all again and working with you .
And even , in time , with sufficient P.P.E.
, giving you a handshake or hug .
Please feel free to e-mail anytime , for any reason .
Author ’ s note : I wrote this letter quickly and sent it out .
Later I was able to find the actual Akhmatova quote , from her poem “ Requiem ” : That last line is , maybe , the real point of the anecdote—Akhmatova ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ some measure of comfort .
• How to practice social distancing , from responding to a sick housemate to the pros and cons of ordering food .
• How people cope and create new customs amid a pandemic .
• What it means to contain and mitigate the coronavirus outbreak .
• How much of the world is likely to be quarantined ?
• Donald Trump in the time of coronavirus .
• The coronavirus is likely to spread for more than a year before a vaccine could be widely available .
• @ @ @ @ @ @ @ • The strange terror of watching the coronavirus take Rome .

Jeez, what a hard and depressing and scary time. So much suffering and anxiety everywhere. (I saw this bee happily buzzing around a flower yesterday and felt like, Moron! If you only knew!) But it also occurs to me that this is when the world needs our eyes and ears and minds. This has never happened before here (at least not since 1918). We are (and especially you are) the generation that is going to have to help us make sense of this and recover afterward. What new forms might you invent, to fictionalize an event like this, where all of the drama is happening in private, essentially? Are you keeping records of the e-mails and texts you’re getting, the thoughts you’re having, the way your hearts and minds are reacting to this strange new way of living? It’s all important. Fifty years from now, people the age you are now won’t believe this ever happened (or will do the sort of eye roll we all do when someone tells us something about some crazy thing that happened in 1970.) What will convince that future kid is what you are able to write about this, and what you’re able to write about it will depend on how much sharp attention you are paying now, and what records you keep.
Also, I think, with how open you can keep your heart. I’m trying to practice feeling something like, “Ah, so this is happening now,” or “Hmm, so this, too, is part of life on Earth. Did not know that, universe. Thanks so much, stinker.”
And then I real quick try to pretend that I didn’t just call the universe a “stinker.”
I did a piece once where I went to live incognito in a homeless camp in Fresno for a week. Very intense, but the best thing I heard in there was from this older guy from Guatemala, who was always saying, “Everything is always keep changing.” Truer words were never spoken. It’s only when we expect solidity—non-change—that we get taken by surprise. (And we always expect solidity, no matter how well we know better.)
Well, this is all sounding a little preachy, and let me confess that I’m not taking my own advice. At all. It’s all happening so fast. Paula has what we are hoping is just a bad cold, and I am doing a lot of inept caregiving. Our dogs can feel that something weird is going on. (“No walk? AGAIN?!”) But I guess what I’m trying to say is that the world is like a sleeping tiger and we tend to live our lives there on its back. (We’re much smaller than the tiger, obviously. We’re like Barbies and Kens on the back of a tiger.) And now and then that tiger wakes up. And that is terrifying. Sometimes it wakes up and someone we love dies. Or someone breaks our heart. Or there’s a pandemic. But this is far from the first time that tiger has come awake. He/she has been doing it since the beginning of time and will never stop doing it. And always there have been writers to observe it and (later) make some sort of sense of it, or at least bear witness to it. It’s good for the world for a writer to bear witness, and it’s good for the writer, too. Especially if she can bear witness with love and humor and, despite it all, some fondness for the world, just as it is manifesting, warts and all.
All of this is to say: there’s still work to be done, and now more than ever.
There’s a beautiful story about the Russian poet Anna Akhmatova. Her son was arrested during the Stalinist purges. One day, she was standing outside the prison with hundreds of other women in similar situations. It’s Russian-cold and they have to go there every day, wait for hours in this big open yard, then get the answer that, today and every day, there will be no news. But every day they keep coming back. A woman, recognizing her as the famous poet, says, “Poet, can you write this?” And Akhmatova thinks about it a second and goes: “Yes.”
I wish you all the best during this crazy period. Someday soon, things will be back to some sort of normal, and it will be easier to be happy again. I believe this and I hope it for each one of you. I look forward to seeing you all again and working with you. And even, in time, with sufficient P.P.E., giving you a handshake or hug.
Please feel free to e-mail anytime, for any reason.
George
Author’s note: I wrote this letter quickly and sent it out. Later I was able to find the actual Akhmatova quote, from her poem “Requiem”:
In the terrible years of the Yezhov terror I spent seventeen months waiting in line outside the prison in Leningrad. One day somebody in the crowd identified me. Standing behind me was a woman, with lips blue from the cold, who had, of course, never heard me called by name before. Now she started out of the torpor common to us all and asked me in a whisper (everyone whispered there):
“Can you describe this?”
And I said: “I can.”
Then something like a smile passed fleetingly over what had once been her face.
That last line is, maybe, the real point of the anecdote—Akhmatova’s confidence gave this unknown and tormented woman some measure of comfort.
A Guide to the Coronavirus


newyorker--2020-04-03--Wisconsin Braces for an Election Day Amid the Coronavirus Crisis

This Tuesday , the state of Wisconsin—which has been under a stay-at-home order since March 25th—is scheduled to hold an election .
The Democratic-primary contest between Joe Biden and Bernie Sanders is on the ballot .
But so are mayoral elections in Milwaukee and other cities , a highly contested state Supreme Court election , and hundreds of other local contests .
In the past few weeks , as the coronavirus outbreak has spread across the country , fifteen states have been compelled to postpone primaries .
In Wisconsin , though , the state ’ s leaders have been in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , Tony Evers , has said it ’ s the legislature that must act if changes are to happen .
Yet the Republicans who control the legislature—whose opposition to Evers is so knee-jerk that they initially opposed his stay-at-home order—have refused to even bring state lawmakers back into session .
The best both sides could agree on : encouraging Wisconsinites to avail themselves of the state ’ s generous absentee-ballot laws , which allow any registered voter to essentially vote by mail .
During the past few weeks , a record number of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ absentee ballots—well over a million by the end of this week .
But those requests have produced their own problems .
The state ’ s election systems weren ’ t designed with a pandemic-induced surge of absentee ballots in mind .
Even in the best case , many ballots won ’ t be in the mail to voters before this weekend .
“ Absolutely , some people are not going to have the opportunity to return their ballot by Election Day , ” Neil Albrecht , the executive director of the election commission @ @ @ @ @ @ @ largest city , told me .
“ Many will even be lucky if they receive it by Election Day.
” He added , “ This is an election moving forward because we are required to move it forward .
But , let ’ s be clear , there is nothing right about this.
” On March 19th , when the number of confirmed COVID-19 cases in the state was a hundred and fifty-five , the Wisconsin Election Commission warned the governor and the state legislature that , if the election went ahead as @ @ @ @ @ @ @ guarantee the safety of our voters , clerks , or election workers.
” Six days later , with the number of cases up to five hundred and eighty-five , Evers ’ s stay-at-home order went into effect .
Two days after that , on March 27th , Evers tried to offer a compromise : he called for keeping the April 7th election date , while also mailing a ballot to every voter in the state , regardless of whether one was explicitly requested .
“ I understand the Republican leaders expressed their support @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” he said .
“ But as elected officials , our top priority has to be everyone ’ s safety.
” Republicans scoffed at the suggestion .
Robin Vos , the speaker of the Assembly , issued a statement calling it “ careless and reckless ” —and even the governor ’ s allies acknowledged that such a move wasn ’ t feasible in such a short span of time .
Local officials and activists , increasingly worried about safety but also about disenfranchisement , turned to the courts , to try to force @ @ @ @ @ @ @ parameters of the election .
Those efforts culminated on Wednesday , at a hearing before U.S. District Judge William Conley .
Conley said that he didn ’ t have the power to postpone the election .
( On Thursday , he issued an order allowing absentee ballots to be counted if they arrive by April 13th . )
He threw the issue back to the state ’ s leaders , saying that , if people contract COVID-19 while participating in the election , their illnesses will be “ on the hands of the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ hours after the hearing , Evers and Republicans once again traded statements .
Evers called on the legislature to “ do its part ” and said , “ If I could have changed the election on my own , I would have , but I can ’ t without violating state law.
” Scott Fitzgerald , the majority leader in the State Senate , replied , “ For Democrats to suggest now that their hands were somehow tied is pure cowardice .
I continue to support holding the election on April 7th—our Republic @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , the number of COVID-19 cases in Wisconsin topped fifteen hundred .
Meanwhile , municipal clerks are being crushed under the avalanche of absentee-ballot requests .
“ We ’ re trying to do the impossible , ” Maribeth Witzel-Behl , the city clerk of Madison , the state capital , said on Monday , speaking by phone from her office .
In her thirteen years on the job , she ’ s administered fifty-six elections .
None compare to what ’ s coming on Tuesday .
She has worked more than a hundred @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
People are calling her office constantly , confused about how to vote , where to vote , and when to vote .
There is already a critical shortage of polling sites , poll workers , and other resources necessary to keep people safe and to fairly conduct the election , and state guidelines are changing daily .
“ I lost my Midwest nice , ” she said .
“ This is as bad as it can get.
” Witzel-Behl , who has asthma , which puts her in a high-risk category if @ @ @ @ @ @ @ also worried about her own health and the health of her staff .
After estimating that they were each coming into contact with some three hundred people a day , Witzel-Behl barred voters from the clerk ’ s office .
The city reserved all the parking meters on the block outside the city-government building , and people— “ primarily ” senior citizens , Witzel-Behl said—have been driving up every day to pick up and drop off their absentee ballots curbside .
Madison ’ s mayor , Satya Rhodes-Conway , has been watching the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ floors up .
“ It ’ s just been a constant stream , ” she said .
Rhodes-Conway is among the public officials who believe that the right course of action would have been for the state to delay the election long enough to mail every registered citizen a ballot and to give people time to vote and return their ballots by mail .
“ Just get as many people as possible to vote by mail , ” she said .
The good news is that Wisconsin has a deep history of very @ @ @ @ @ @ @ are a product of that history .
But more recently , Republicans , who dominated the state government from 2011 until last year , put in place a suite of restrictions on voter registration and voting itself—including some of the most strict voter-I.D .
laws in the country .
Even before this crisis , those rules made it harder primarily for poor people and members of marginalized groups to vote .
Now they are creating a whole new set of challenges .
“ This is somewhere between a tragedy and a disaster , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a convergence of a pandemic with deeply dysfunctional partisan politics.
” The coronavirus has created public-health and economic crises in America .
But it has the potential to create an electoral crisis as well .
Last month , the Brennan Center for Justice , the public-interest think tank affiliated with New York University ’ s law school , issued guidelines on how the November , 2020 elections could be protected from the pandemic .
The Center ’ s recommendations include offering universal voting by mail , implementing safety measures at polling places , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and voter education .
In a sentence that pretty much sums up the current state of American democracy , the Brennan Center also recommends that , in 2020 , “ Procedures should be established to ensure that hand sanitizer use does not jam ballot scanners .
”

This Tuesday, the state of Wisconsin—which has been under a stay-at-home order since March 25th—is scheduled to hold an election. The Democratic-primary contest between Joe Biden and Bernie Sanders is on the ballot. But so are mayoral elections in Milwaukee and other cities, a highly contested state Supreme Court election, and hundreds of other local contests. In the past few weeks, as the coronavirus outbreak has spread across the country, fifteen states have been compelled to postpone primaries. In Wisconsin, though, the state’s leaders have been in a standoff. The first-term Democratic governor, Tony Evers, has said it’s the legislature that must act if changes are to happen. Yet the Republicans who control the legislature—whose opposition to Evers is so knee-jerk that they initially opposed his stay-at-home order—have refused to even bring state lawmakers back into session. The best both sides could agree on: encouraging Wisconsinites to avail themselves of the state’s generous absentee-ballot laws, which allow any registered voter to essentially vote by mail.
During the past few weeks, a record number of people have followed that advice and requested absentee ballots—well over a million by the end of this week. But those requests have produced their own problems. The state’s election systems weren’t designed with a pandemic-induced surge of absentee ballots in mind. Even in the best case, many ballots won’t be in the mail to voters before this weekend. “Absolutely, some people are not going to have the opportunity to return their ballot by Election Day,” Neil Albrecht, the executive director of the election commission in Milwaukee, the state’s largest city, told me. “Many will even be lucky if they receive it by Election Day.” He added, “This is an election moving forward because we are required to move it forward. But, let’s be clear, there is nothing right about this.”
On March 19th, when the number of confirmed COVID-19 cases in the state was a hundred and fifty-five, the Wisconsin Election Commission warned the governor and the state legislature that, if the election went ahead as planned, the Commission could not “guarantee the safety of our voters, clerks, or election workers.” Six days later, with the number of cases up to five hundred and eighty-five, Evers’s stay-at-home order went into effect. Two days after that, on March 27th, Evers tried to offer a compromise: he called for keeping the April 7th election date, while also mailing a ballot to every voter in the state, regardless of whether one was explicitly requested. “I understand the Republican leaders expressed their support for not delaying the upcoming election,” he said. “But as elected officials, our top priority has to be everyone’s safety.”
Republicans scoffed at the suggestion. Robin Vos, the speaker of the Assembly, issued a statement calling it “careless and reckless”—and even the governor’s allies acknowledged that such a move wasn’t feasible in such a short span of time. Local officials and activists, increasingly worried about safety but also about disenfranchisement, turned to the courts, to try to force the state to postpone or adjust the parameters of the election. Those efforts culminated on Wednesday, at a hearing before U.S. District Judge William Conley. Conley said that he didn’t have the power to postpone the election. (On Thursday, he issued an order allowing absentee ballots to be counted if they arrive by April 13th.) He threw the issue back to the state’s leaders, saying that, if people contract COVID-19 while participating in the election, their illnesses will be “on the hands of the Legislature and the governor.”
In the hours after the hearing, Evers and Republicans once again traded statements. Evers called on the legislature to “do its part” and said, “If I could have changed the election on my own, I would have, but I can’t without violating state law.” Scott Fitzgerald, the majority leader in the State Senate, replied, “For Democrats to suggest now that their hands were somehow tied is pure cowardice. I continue to support holding the election on April 7th—our Republic must continue to function.” On Wednesday, the number of COVID-19 cases in Wisconsin topped fifteen hundred.
Meanwhile, municipal clerks are being crushed under the avalanche of absentee-ballot requests. “We’re trying to do the impossible,” Maribeth Witzel-Behl, the city clerk of Madison, the state capital, said on Monday, speaking by phone from her office. In her thirteen years on the job, she’s administered fifty-six elections. None compare to what’s coming on Tuesday. She has worked more than a hundred hours each of the past two weeks. People are calling her office constantly, confused about how to vote, where to vote, and when to vote. There is already a critical shortage of polling sites, poll workers, and other resources necessary to keep people safe and to fairly conduct the election, and state guidelines are changing daily. “I lost my Midwest nice,” she said. “This is as bad as it can get.”
Witzel-Behl, who has asthma, which puts her in a high-risk category if she were to contract COVID-19, is also worried about her own health and the health of her staff. After estimating that they were each coming into contact with some three hundred people a day, Witzel-Behl barred voters from the clerk’s office. The city reserved all the parking meters on the block outside the city-government building, and people—“primarily” senior citizens, Witzel-Behl said—have been driving up every day to pick up and drop off their absentee ballots curbside.
Madison’s mayor, Satya Rhodes-Conway, has been watching the cars from her office window a few floors up. “It’s just been a constant stream,” she said. Rhodes-Conway is among the public officials who believe that the right course of action would have been for the state to delay the election long enough to mail every registered citizen a ballot and to give people time to vote and return their ballots by mail. “Just get as many people as possible to vote by mail,” she said. The good news is that Wisconsin has a deep history of very competent election administration. Its absentee-ballot laws are a product of that history. But more recently, Republicans, who dominated the state government from 2011 until last year, put in place a suite of restrictions on voter registration and voting itself—including some of the most strict voter-I.D. laws in the country. Even before this crisis, those rules made it harder primarily for poor people and members of marginalized groups to vote. Now they are creating a whole new set of challenges. “This is somewhere between a tragedy and a disaster,” Rhodes-Conway said. “We have a convergence of a pandemic with deeply dysfunctional partisan politics.”
The coronavirus has created public-health and economic crises in America. But it has the potential to create an electoral crisis as well. Last month, the Brennan Center for Justice, the public-interest think tank affiliated with New York University’s law school, issued guidelines on how the November, 2020 elections could be protected from the pandemic. The Center’s recommendations include offering universal voting by mail, implementing safety measures at polling places, expanding voter registration and early-voting periods, and voter education. In a sentence that pretty much sums up the current state of American democracy, the Brennan Center also recommends that, in 2020, “Procedures should be established to ensure that hand sanitizer use does not jam ballot scanners.”
In Congress, Senators Ron Wyden, of Oregon, and Amy Klobuchar, of Minnesota, have introduced legislation to fund voting by mail across the country. But the proposal’s prospects in Washington—with its own dysfunctional partisan politics—are uncertain at best. And, in any case, election administration in the United States isn’t a national affair but a state-by-state, county-by-county, and, in some ways, precinct-by-precinct operation. “The use of absentee balloting is key,” Richard L. Hasen, a law professor at the University of California, Irvine, and the author of “Election Meltdown,” said. “I worry about those places where it’s harder to vote by absentee.” Wendy Weiser, the vice-president for democracy at the Brennan Center, said that debates like the one taking place in Wisconsin “are good early-warning signs for November,” because delaying the general election is out of the question. “States have different levels of preparedness and different levels of infrastructure that allows them to pivot more or less quickly,” Weiser said. “But we need a lot of changes. So part of the delay-or-not-delay debate is a recognition of all the changes that need to be made.”
In Wisconsin, the debate about postponement wasn’t strictly a partisan fight, at least initially. Although the Wisconsin Democratic Party was among the groups that filed lawsuits to push for modifications to the upcoming election—and it successfully convinced a judge to push the voter-registration deadline to March 31st—the Party’s chairman, Ben Wikler, was not initially on board with the calls to postpone the election altogether. “Primary elections are one thing,” he said. “But Wisconsin has a general election scheduled. If local offices become vacant, if there’s a crisis of legitimacy for people who are wielding power, that is a profound problem.” Joe Zepecki, a top Democratic political operative in the state, told me that exercising the right to vote should be considered at least as essential as going out to get groceries. “This is as essential as it gets,” he said, adding that, in the age of Donald Trump, “I think we have to be really, really careful about doing things like moving election dates.” (On Wednesday night, after Judge Conley’s hearing, Wikler issued a statement saying that the state Party now endorsed the calls to postpone. “It became clear that the least worst option was to delay the election,” he told me.)
Eric Genrich, the Democratic mayor of Green Bay, has been among the most prominent voices calling for an election delay in the state. “What we’re headed toward is both going to be a logistical train wreck and a public-health travesty,” he said. In March, Green Bay filed a federal lawsuit in an attempt to force changes, only to have the effort tossed out by a judge, who said that the city wasn’t allowed to sue the state. “We are not suggesting we should cancel this election,” Genrich said. “We’re just saying the way it’s administered needs to be modified. There just has not been any response that matches with the gravity of the situation.”
While Green Bay was mounting its lawsuit, activist groups and unions—including Souls to the Polls, a Milwaukee-based alliance of pastors whose founding president, Greg Lewis, was recently diagnosed with COVID-19—were mounting their own, demanding a range of remedial measures, from postponing the election to relaxing Wisconsin’s strict proof-of-residency requirements for voter registration. Their case was eventually consolidated with others and wound up before Judge Conley. Angela Lang, the executive director of Black Leaders Organizing for Communities, which is also a party in the lawsuit, told me that people are hearing conflicting messages right now. On the one hand, there’s the stay-at-home order. On the other hand, they’re being told to figure out how to vote. “We’re walking this balance of, yes, we want people to know the most up-to-date information about the election, but, at the same time, people are checked out,” Lang said. “The election is going to be on the back burner if you’re trying to feed your kids who are now home from school, or if you lost your job.”


newyorker--2020-04-03--How to Hope: Lessons from a Children’s Hospital in the Time of the Coronavirus

Every few weeks , I spend the night at one of the children ’ s hospitals in Los Angeles .
I ’ m a palliative-care doctor , part of a team that sees kids with complicated chronic illnesses and works along with their other care providers to alleviate their physical , emotional , and spiritual pain .
But I help out now and then on the bone-marrow-transplant ( B.M.T . )
unit , when a doctor ’ s needed on the overnight shift .
Children get their transplants very soon after they ’ re admitted , and at least one @ @ @ @ @ @ @ whole course of their hospitalization .
The life-saving procedure is somewhat anticlimactic—it ’ s technically similar to a blood transfusion .
But the immediate aftermath is always fraught with peril , and sometimes rife with complications .
On any ordinary night , I shuffle affably around the horseshoe-shaped ward , saying hello to the families before it gets too late .
I check in with the nurses throughout the night .
I talk to the laboratory when they have urgent information to pass on .
I take calls from parents whose children , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ program , have some new symptom and who need guidance about what to do next .
I trained as a pediatric oncologist , but it was only ever my foster home in medicine .
I learned to be a hospital chaplain , hoping that it would make me a better oncologist , but it turned me into an entirely different kind of doctor .
I miss pediatric oncology , though , and I miss especially the particular community of the B.M.T .
ward .
Every child who is admitted there stays for at @ @ @ @ @ @ @ some stay for months , which makes for a very rich continuity of care .
A visit to a family ’ s hospital room starts to feel like a visit to their living room , as if we ’ re all not only walking in and out of their care but in and out of their lives .
Of course , there ’ s been nothing ordinary about working in the hospital lately , under the ever-darkening shadow of the coronavirus pandemic .
I remember my shift this past week being fairly mellow @ @ @ @ @ @ @ trouble breathing , nobody got a fever , nobody even got a rash—but it was suffused with an anxious , expectant tension , which seemed further accentuated by the quiet .
We ’ d already started to defer some scheduled admissions , to reduce volume in the hospital ( we anticipated that we would likely be receiving children from adult hospitals , to help them build surge capacity ) , so many of the rooms were empty , the beds made up immaculately behind the glass doors , the monitors polished and gleaming @ @ @ @ @ @ @ neatly coiled and hung .
All over the hospital , there were signs of change , even down in the cafeteria , where the seating area had been closed down and the salad bar had suddenly atomized into constituent , plastic-wrapped pieces of lettuce and broccoli and cherry tomatoes in pairs .
It seemed like everything was different and like everything was still about to happen .
I spend those nights on the ward as a pinch-hitting transplant hospitalist , but I try to keep palliative care in my posture .
I try @ @ @ @ @ @ @ that the discipline has taught me , for people ’ s hopes and fears , even in a conversation about a fever or a rash .
My intention the other night was not different , though , in practice , everything was different , altered by that omnipresent anxious tension .
I aim on a usual night to go into most of the rooms , to introduce myself to patients and parents and remind them that there ’ s a doctor on the ward overnight , to answer questions or just to talk @ @ @ @ @ @ @ seemed like reckless folly .
Last week , I sent greetings through the nurses , instead .
I knocked on glass doors .
I waved .
And when , in my shuffling rounds , I happened to catch a mother in the hallway , I said hello from a distance .
As she washed her hands in the hall sink—parents have always washed their hands for at least two minutes before they go into their children ’ s rooms—the mother told me about her trip to the grocery store , shaking her head @ @ @ @ @ @ @ where all the pasta and rice and toilet paper used to be .
Though her child had been admitted with us for many increasingly tiresome months , she said that tonight she felt grateful for the delay in getting home .
She felt much safer in here than she did outside .
I nodded , and then she nodded , and then we smiled awkwardly at each other as she finished up .
There aren ’ t many truisms in palliative care , a medical specialty that might best be broadly described as @ @ @ @ @ @ @ they are as they reconcile themselves to extreme personal crisis , and to help them discern what matters most to them and then make a vigorous effort to arrange their—or their child ’ s—medical care such that it supports and celebrates their values and their personhood and their lives , regardless of whether or not those lives can be saved .
There ’ s no formulaic way to meet patients and families where they are in their coping , but in my training I learned not to say certain things , such as @ @ @ @ @ @ @ re going through , ” or “ Nobody gets more than they can handle , ” or , especially , “ Everything is going to be O.K.
” You have to say such a thing only once , never mind whether it ’ s spoken out of hope or experience , to learn how it can make a person feel unheard and unseen in their disorientation and suffering , how it can make them enraged .
And yet working with families over months and years teaches you to hope that life reconstitutes on @ @ @ @ @ @ @ that people can find joy in living again on the far side of unbearable loss .
In the palliative-care encounter—which is really any clinical encounter set within catastrophe , whether fast or slow—you can try to know such things in your heart .
You can ’ t say them out loud , but you try the best you can to hold on to them , for the sake of your patient .
I didn ’ t say anything to that mother at the sink about everything turning out all right or getting through @ @ @ @ @ @ @ strained desperately against my training to make some gesture of reassurance to both of us .
More importantly , neither did she .
But something in her posture and her own awkward smile brought me to imagine , or to understand , that she was holding the same sort of space for me that I wanted to hold for her .
And who better to reassure me against the fear I ’ d been carrying around all week than someone who had survived for months under a direct threat of losing the things @ @ @ @ @ @ @ most ?
I ’ ve thought every day since then , as I struggle to contain my compounding anxieties surrounding the coming weeks in the U.S. and the world , about the strange axis around which we all eventually turn as health-care providers—each of us becomes a patient , in time .
In time , each of us loses people we love to illness .
Usually , we go there one by one , but it seems to me now that we are all suddenly turning at once , as if that mother @ @ @ @ @ @ @ me and to the whole professional half of the hospital , to all the non-patients , “ Welcome to my world.
” In my perception or projection , she was saying this with a very generous compassion for my anxiety , for my dismay at being challenged to accept my own medicine , the medicine of palliative care , which shelters me as an intellectual and emotional and spiritual home both within the hospital and outside it .
I know better than to say such things to patients or families , and I @ @ @ @ @ @ @ myself or to my own family .
But I can try , as I ’ ve been trained to , to attach myself to a hope , always too fragile to speak aloud , that we all might one day eventually be—in some tattered , transfigured way—O.K .
• How to practice social distancing , from responding to a sick housemate to the pros and cons of ordering food .
• How people cope and create new customs amid a pandemic .
• What it means to contain and mitigate the coronavirus outbreak @ @ @ @ @ @ @ is likely to be quarantined ?
• Donald Trump in the time of coronavirus .
• The coronavirus is likely to spread for more than a year before a vaccine could be widely available .
• We are all irrational panic shoppers .
• The strange terror of watching the coronavirus take Rome .

Every few weeks, I spend the night at one of the children’s hospitals in Los Angeles. I’m a palliative-care doctor, part of a team that sees kids with complicated chronic illnesses and works along with their other care providers to alleviate their physical, emotional, and spiritual pain. But I help out now and then on the bone-marrow-transplant (B.M.T.) unit, when a doctor’s needed on the overnight shift. Children get their transplants very soon after they’re admitted, and at least one parent will stay with them through the whole course of their hospitalization. The life-saving procedure is somewhat anticlimactic—it’s technically similar to a blood transfusion. But the immediate aftermath is always fraught with peril, and sometimes rife with complications.
On any ordinary night, I shuffle affably around the horseshoe-shaped ward, saying hello to the families before it gets too late. I check in with the nurses throughout the night. I talk to the laboratory when they have urgent information to pass on. I take calls from parents whose children, at home after graduating into the outpatient program, have some new symptom and who need guidance about what to do next. I trained as a pediatric oncologist, but it was only ever my foster home in medicine. I learned to be a hospital chaplain, hoping that it would make me a better oncologist, but it turned me into an entirely different kind of doctor. I miss pediatric oncology, though, and I miss especially the particular community of the B.M.T. ward. Every child who is admitted there stays for at least two or three weeks, and some stay for months, which makes for a very rich continuity of care. A visit to a family’s hospital room starts to feel like a visit to their living room, as if we’re all not only walking in and out of their care but in and out of their lives.
Of course, there’s been nothing ordinary about working in the hospital lately, under the ever-darkening shadow of the coronavirus pandemic. I remember my shift this past week being fairly mellow on the level of clinical drama—nobody had trouble breathing, nobody got a fever, nobody even got a rash—but it was suffused with an anxious, expectant tension, which seemed further accentuated by the quiet. We’d already started to defer some scheduled admissions, to reduce volume in the hospital (we anticipated that we would likely be receiving children from adult hospitals, to help them build surge capacity), so many of the rooms were empty, the beds made up immaculately behind the glass doors, the monitors polished and gleaming, the yards of wires and tubes neatly coiled and hung. All over the hospital, there were signs of change, even down in the cafeteria, where the seating area had been closed down and the salad bar had suddenly atomized into constituent, plastic-wrapped pieces of lettuce and broccoli and cherry tomatoes in pairs. It seemed like everything was different and like everything was still about to happen.
I spend those nights on the ward as a pinch-hitting transplant hospitalist, but I try to keep palliative care in my posture. I try to be present, in the way that the discipline has taught me, for people’s hopes and fears, even in a conversation about a fever or a rash. My intention the other night was not different, though, in practice, everything was different, altered by that omnipresent anxious tension. I aim on a usual night to go into most of the rooms, to introduce myself to patients and parents and remind them that there’s a doctor on the ward overnight, to answer questions or just to talk. Now that sort of quasi-social visit seemed like reckless folly. Last week, I sent greetings through the nurses, instead. I knocked on glass doors. I waved. And when, in my shuffling rounds, I happened to catch a mother in the hallway, I said hello from a distance.
As she washed her hands in the hall sink—parents have always washed their hands for at least two minutes before they go into their children’s rooms—the mother told me about her trip to the grocery store, shaking her head as she described the empty shelves, where all the pasta and rice and toilet paper used to be. Though her child had been admitted with us for many increasingly tiresome months, she said that tonight she felt grateful for the delay in getting home. She felt much safer in here than she did outside. I nodded, and then she nodded, and then we smiled awkwardly at each other as she finished up.
There aren’t many truisms in palliative care, a medical specialty that might best be broadly described as a multidisciplinary effort to meet people where they are as they reconcile themselves to extreme personal crisis, and to help them discern what matters most to them and then make a vigorous effort to arrange their—or their child’s—medical care such that it supports and celebrates their values and their personhood and their lives, regardless of whether or not those lives can be saved. There’s no formulaic way to meet patients and families where they are in their coping, but in my training I learned not to say certain things, such as “I know just what you’re going through,” or “Nobody gets more than they can handle,” or, especially, “Everything is going to be O.K.” You have to say such a thing only once, never mind whether it’s spoken out of hope or experience, to learn how it can make a person feel unheard and unseen in their disorientation and suffering, how it can make them enraged. And yet working with families over months and years teaches you to hope that life reconstitutes on the other side of catastrophe, and that people can find joy in living again on the far side of unbearable loss. In the palliative-care encounter—which is really any clinical encounter set within catastrophe, whether fast or slow—you can try to know such things in your heart. You can’t say them out loud, but you try the best you can to hold on to them, for the sake of your patient.
I didn’t say anything to that mother at the sink about everything turning out all right or getting through it, though some part of me strained desperately against my training to make some gesture of reassurance to both of us. More importantly, neither did she. But something in her posture and her own awkward smile brought me to imagine, or to understand, that she was holding the same sort of space for me that I wanted to hold for her. And who better to reassure me against the fear I’d been carrying around all week than someone who had survived for months under a direct threat of losing the things in the world that she valued the most?
I’ve thought every day since then, as I struggle to contain my compounding anxieties surrounding the coming weeks in the U.S. and the world, about the strange axis around which we all eventually turn as health-care providers—each of us becomes a patient, in time. In time, each of us loses people we love to illness. Usually, we go there one by one, but it seems to me now that we are all suddenly turning at once, as if that mother’s awkward smile were saying to me and to the whole professional half of the hospital, to all the non-patients, “Welcome to my world.” In my perception or projection, she was saying this with a very generous compassion for my anxiety, for my dismay at being challenged to accept my own medicine, the medicine of palliative care, which shelters me as an intellectual and emotional and spiritual home both within the hospital and outside it. I know better than to say such things to patients or families, and I know better than to say them to myself or to my own family. But I can try, as I’ve been trained to, to attach myself to a hope, always too fragile to speak aloud, that we all might one day eventually be—in some tattered, transfigured way—O.K.
More Medical Dispatches


newyorker--2020-04-03--The Worries of a Doctor Treating Patients in New York City’s Coronavirus Cluster

Dr. Tina Goloborodko ’ s apartment is decorated with family photographs : framed prints of a couple standing close and stooping over an infant who ’ s looking into the camera , a candid shot of the doctor standing behind a gray-haired man , with a hand on each of his shoulders , her face hovering just beside his ear , seemingly caught mid-whisper .
As New York City enters its fourth week of widespread social-distancing measures to stem the global coronavirus crisis , these intimate images are surreal postcards from another era—before touch became a cultural bête noire .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ talks about what it ’ s like to treat patients in New York City during the outbreak , and about what she fears may be coming .
An internist at Weiler Hospital , in the Bronx , Goloborodko says that her “ worst nightmare .
.
.
has now manifested.
” New York City has the largest cluster of COVID-19 cases in the United States , at more than forty-seven thousand , and more than thirteen hundred people have died in the city .
Every half hour , sirens herald another ambulance , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the number of patients in need will exceed the “ finite number of ventilators.
” “ This is the scariest disease I ’ ve ever seen , ” she says .
Many of her colleagues have separated from their families temporarily , but renting a second apartment isn ’ t a possibility for Goloborodko .
At the threshold of her bright , sunlit apartment , Goloborodko strips off her work clothes .
She sprays her shoes with Lysol and leaves them outside the door .
Her home used to be an escape , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and “ switch off.
” “ But now , ” she says , “ I can ’ t relax ever.
” Even after changing her clothes , she doesn ’ t feel safe .
“ I may still have it , and I may still be giving it to my loved ones , ” she says .
“ You have no idea about coronavirus , ” she says sweetly to her babbling toddler , tousling his bright blond hair .
“ Such happy times .
No worries .
Carefree.
” She laughs with @ @ @ @ @ @ @ goes to work .

Dr. Tina Goloborodko’s apartment is decorated with family photographs: framed prints of a couple standing close and stooping over an infant who’s looking into the camera, a candid shot of the doctor standing behind a gray-haired man, with a hand on each of his shoulders, her face hovering just beside his ear, seemingly caught mid-whisper. As New York City enters its fourth week of widespread social-distancing measures to stem the global coronavirus crisis, these intimate images are surreal postcards from another era—before touch became a cultural bête noire. In the video above, the doctor talks about what it’s like to treat patients in New York City during the outbreak, and about what she fears may be coming.
An internist at Weiler Hospital, in the Bronx, Goloborodko says that her “worst nightmare . . . has now manifested.” New York City has the largest cluster of COVID-19 cases in the United States, at more than forty-seven thousand, and more than thirteen hundred people have died in the city. Every half hour, sirens herald another ambulance, Goloborodko says. She is terrified that the number of patients in need will exceed the “finite number of ventilators.” “This is the scariest disease I’ve ever seen,” she says.
Many of her colleagues have separated from their families temporarily, but renting a second apartment isn’t a possibility for Goloborodko. At the threshold of her bright, sunlit apartment, Goloborodko strips off her work clothes. She sprays her shoes with Lysol and leaves them outside the door. Her home used to be an escape, a place to leave the hospital behind and “switch off.” “But now,” she says, “I can’t relax ever.” Even after changing her clothes, she doesn’t feel safe. “I may still have it, and I may still be giving it to my loved ones,” she says.
“You have no idea about coronavirus,” she says sweetly to her babbling toddler, tousling his bright blond hair. “Such happy times. No worries. Carefree.” She laughs with the little boy. And then she goes to work.
More Medical Dispatches


newyorker--2020-04-03--Why an Idaho Ski Destination Has One of the Highest COVID-19 Infection Rates in the Nation

On Friday , March 6th , DJ Jazzy Jeff was spinning records for a packed house at Whiskey Jacques bar , in Ketchum , Idaho .
The party capped a week of festivities in Ketchum and the neighboring Sun Valley for the annual Black Summit of the National Brotherhood of Skiers ( N.B.S . )
, the largest African-American ski and snowboard association in the world .
Nearly seven hundred Brotherhood members had made the journey from their homes across the United States , or in some cases from London , for their forty-seventh annual mountain meet-up .
The mayor @ @ @ @ @ @ @ pomp and ceremony , including keys to the city and a proclamation of March 6th as National Brotherhood of Skiers Day .
By the following week , upward of a hundred and twenty-six members of the Brotherhood had come down with symptoms of the coronavirus .
Twenty tested positive for COVID-19 , and eight were hospitalized , including three in intensive-care units .
On March 30th , DJ Jazzy Jeff announced that he was suffering from pneumonia and associated coronavirus symptoms .
In the days since , two longtime N.B.S .
members , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Charles Jackson , of Los Angeles , who shared a room while in Sun Valley , have died of the illness .
At least twice in March , President Trump invoked Idaho as an example of a certain kind of American place : wide open , capable , impervious to a health-care crisis .
“ Parts of our country are very lightly affected .
Very small numbers , ” Trump said , on March 24th .
“ You look at Nebraska , you look at Idaho , you look at Iowa , you @ @ @ @ @ @ @ that are handling it very , very well and that are not affected to the same extent , or , frankly , not even nearly to the extent of New York.
” Five days later , Trump ticked off the same triumvirate of “ countries.
” “ I said , ‘ How about Nebraska ?
How about Idaho ?
How about Iowa ?
’ And you know what ?
Those people are so great—the whole Midwest , ” he said , missing Idaho on the map by a thousand miles or so .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ , the governor of Idaho , Brad Little , issued a statewide stay-at-home order , reflecting a reality not acknowledged in White House briefings : that what might look like blank spaces on the Johns Hopkins COVID-19 global map are , in fact , hiding clusters of concentrated sickness .
Blaine County , Idaho , for example , which is roughly the size of Delaware , has just three hundred and ninety-nine confirmed cases and two deaths .
But , with approximately twenty-two thousand full-time residents , the county ’ s infection rate @ @ @ @ @ @ @ even than those of New York ’ s Westchester and Rockland counties , and possibly on par with earlier pandemic epicenters in northern Italy and Wuhan , China .
And , as in Italy , the situation is exacerbated in the aging resort towns of Ketchum and Sun Valley , where the average ages of residents are forty-six and sixty , respectively , and where , on one recent April Fools ’ Day , a local group of pranksters stationed walkers on the curbsides of the town ’ s main intersections .
Idaho @ @ @ @ @ @ @ greatest danger .
More than fifty health-care workers have tested positive in the state ’ s South Central Health District , about forty of whom work for the St. Luke ’ s hospital system in Blaine County and Twin Falls to the south .
Jesse Vanderhoof , a nurse at St. Luke ’ s hospital , in Ketchum , was administering nasal swabs at a drive-up testing site before he became sick .
As his condition deteriorated , on March 24th , his wife dropped him back at the E.R .
; hours @ @ @ @ @ @ @ that her previously healthy , thirty-nine-year-old husband had suffered a seizure and was boarded onto a life flight bound for Boise .
He was put on a ventilator for several days before regaining the strength to breathe on his own .
Brent Russell , one of two E.R .
physicians at St. Luke ’ s in Ketchum who tested positive , battled a hundred-and-four-degree fever with shaking chills ; he would awaken in the middle of the night , unable to catch his breath .
Russell wrote a letter to the local Idaho @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , in his view , was either unable or unwilling to adapt to the new rules of the pandemic .
“ People were not taking this seriously , ” he told me .
“ I would look out the windows of my house and see groups of people talking and congregating in the street.
” As his wife , son , niece , and nephew all came down with symptoms of COVID-19 , Russell applauded Governor Little ’ s abrupt stay-at-home order , a decision that caught many by surprise in a state @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
“ We need a heavy hand right now , ” Russell said .
“ We need all forces thrown at stopping this thing.
” What bothered Russell the most over the past two weeks , however , was how quickly some members of his community turned to find someone to blame .
Local finger-pointing began with a March 20th article , in the Idaho Mountain Express , which alleged that a National Brotherhood of Skiers après-ski dance party at Sun Valley ’ s River Run Lodge on March 6th , a few @ @ @ @ @ @ @ stage uptown , could have been the source of the outbreak .
( I worked for several years as a reporter for the Idaho Mountain Express . )
The article cited several anonymous sources who fell ill following the party and assumed that the black ski club was the source of the virus .
“ I would think that they would want to track this , ” the paper quoted one local woman saying , of the Brotherhood .
The N.B.S .
president , Henri Rivers , told me that the Mountain Express @ @ @ @ @ @ @ or his organization a chance to respond .
( The Mountain Express claims that it contacted multiple N.B.S .
representatives for comment . )
“ I was livid .
They implied that we tried to harm the town , ” he said , noting that his nearly seven hundred skiers spent more than a million dollars during their week in central Idaho , and that dozens returned home gravely ill. A week after the story was published , the mayors of Ketchum and Sun Valley signed a joint letter condemning the allegations as @ @ @ @ @ @ @ we ’ re going to point the finger at anyone , point it at me , for not closing this town down earlier , ” Neil Bradshaw , the mayor of Ketchum , said .
“ We believe that the virus came in from Seattle , probably a couple of weeks earlier .
They probably got the virus from many people here , and for that I feel terrible.
” A ski resort is , in many ways , an ideal breeding ground for an epidemic .
Skiing and snowboarding may look from @ @ @ @ @ @ @ helmets , goggles , and neck warmers may be assumed to function like alpine hazmat suits .
But , at major resorts , stretches of brisk , wintry liberation on the slopes are interrupted by long chairlift and gondola rides , during which people sit shoulder to shoulder and knee to knee with a perpetually rotating cast of strangers .
The National Brotherhood may not have brought the virus to Idaho , but it did bring the party , and , in ski towns across America and the rest of the world this @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in hand .
Ski-resort areas in California , Colorado , and elsewhere “ show higher infection rates than more densely populated cities nearby , ” Adventure Journal noted , including Mono County , California , the home of Mammoth Mountain Ski Area , which now has the highest per-capita rate of COVID-19 in the state .
In Europe , several governments tracked hundreds of coronavirus cases to one Austrian ski town , with some epidemiological reports identifying beer-pong tables as a potential source of infection .
In Mexico , the chairman of the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ from a ski trip to Colorado ’ s Vail resort .

On Friday, March 6th, DJ Jazzy Jeff was spinning records for a packed house at Whiskey Jacques bar, in Ketchum, Idaho. The party capped a week of festivities in Ketchum and the neighboring Sun Valley for the annual Black Summit of the National Brotherhood of Skiers (N.B.S.), the largest African-American ski and snowboard association in the world. Nearly seven hundred Brotherhood members had made the journey from their homes across the United States, or in some cases from London, for their forty-seventh annual mountain meet-up. The mayor of Sun Valley welcomed the Brotherhood with pomp and ceremony, including keys to the city and a proclamation of March 6th as National Brotherhood of Skiers Day.
By the following week, upward of a hundred and twenty-six members of the Brotherhood had come down with symptoms of the coronavirus. Twenty tested positive for COVID-19, and eight were hospitalized, including three in intensive-care units. On March 30th, DJ Jazzy Jeff announced that he was suffering from pneumonia and associated coronavirus symptoms. In the days since, two longtime N.B.S. members, Nathaniel Jackson, of Pasadena, and Charles Jackson, of Los Angeles, who shared a room while in Sun Valley, have died of the illness.
At least twice in March, President Trump invoked Idaho as an example of a certain kind of American place: wide open, capable, impervious to a health-care crisis. “Parts of our country are very lightly affected. Very small numbers,” Trump said, on March 24th. “You look at Nebraska, you look at Idaho, you look at Iowa, you look at many—I could name many countries that are handling it very, very well and that are not affected to the same extent, or, frankly, not even nearly to the extent of New York.” Five days later, Trump ticked off the same triumvirate of “countries.” “I said, ‘How about Nebraska? How about Idaho? How about Iowa?’ And you know what? Those people are so great—the whole Midwest,” he said, missing Idaho on the map by a thousand miles or so.
Between Trump’s statements, however, the governor of Idaho, Brad Little, issued a statewide stay-at-home order, reflecting a reality not acknowledged in White House briefings: that what might look like blank spaces on the Johns Hopkins COVID-19 global map are, in fact, hiding clusters of concentrated sickness. Blaine County, Idaho, for example, which is roughly the size of Delaware, has just three hundred and ninety-nine confirmed cases and two deaths. But, with approximately twenty-two thousand full-time residents, the county’s infection rate is now the highest in the nation—greater even than those of New York’s Westchester and Rockland counties, and possibly on par with earlier pandemic epicenters in northern Italy and Wuhan, China. And, as in Italy, the situation is exacerbated in the aging resort towns of Ketchum and Sun Valley, where the average ages of residents are forty-six and sixty, respectively, and where, on one recent April Fools’ Day, a local group of pranksters stationed walkers on the curbsides of the town’s main intersections.
Idaho’s doctors and nurses face the greatest danger. More than fifty health-care workers have tested positive in the state’s South Central Health District, about forty of whom work for the St. Luke’s hospital system in Blaine County and Twin Falls to the south. Jesse Vanderhoof, a nurse at St. Luke’s hospital, in Ketchum, was administering nasal swabs at a drive-up testing site before he became sick. As his condition deteriorated, on March 24th, his wife dropped him back at the E.R.; hours later, she received a call saying that her previously healthy, thirty-nine-year-old husband had suffered a seizure and was boarded onto a life flight bound for Boise. He was put on a ventilator for several days before regaining the strength to breathe on his own.
Brent Russell, one of two E.R. physicians at St. Luke’s in Ketchum who tested positive, battled a hundred-and-four-degree fever with shaking chills; he would awaken in the middle of the night, unable to catch his breath. Russell wrote a letter to the local Idaho Mountain Express pleading with a community that, in his view, was either unable or unwilling to adapt to the new rules of the pandemic. “People were not taking this seriously,” he told me. “I would look out the windows of my house and see groups of people talking and congregating in the street.” As his wife, son, niece, and nephew all came down with symptoms of COVID-19, Russell applauded Governor Little’s abrupt stay-at-home order, a decision that caught many by surprise in a state known as a refuge for anti-government individualists. “We need a heavy hand right now,” Russell said. “We need all forces thrown at stopping this thing.”
What bothered Russell the most over the past two weeks, however, was how quickly some members of his community turned to find someone to blame. Local finger-pointing began with a March 20th article, in the Idaho Mountain Express, which alleged that a National Brotherhood of Skiers après-ski dance party at Sun Valley’s River Run Lodge on March 6th, a few hours before DJ Jazzy Jeff took the stage uptown, could have been the source of the outbreak. (I worked for several years as a reporter for the Idaho Mountain Express.) The article cited several anonymous sources who fell ill following the party and assumed that the black ski club was the source of the virus. “I would think that they would want to track this,” the paper quoted one local woman saying, of the Brotherhood.
The N.B.S. president, Henri Rivers, told me that the Mountain Express posted its story online before giving him or his organization a chance to respond. (The Mountain Express claims that it contacted multiple N.B.S. representatives for comment.) “I was livid. They implied that we tried to harm the town,” he said, noting that his nearly seven hundred skiers spent more than a million dollars during their week in central Idaho, and that dozens returned home gravely ill. A week after the story was published, the mayors of Ketchum and Sun Valley signed a joint letter condemning the allegations as “baseless and unmerited.”
“If we’re going to point the finger at anyone, point it at me, for not closing this town down earlier,” Neil Bradshaw, the mayor of Ketchum, said. “We believe that the virus came in from Seattle, probably a couple of weeks earlier. They probably got the virus from many people here, and for that I feel terrible.”
A ski resort is, in many ways, an ideal breeding ground for an epidemic. Skiing and snowboarding may look from a distance like solitary pursuits; the helmets, goggles, and neck warmers may be assumed to function like alpine hazmat suits. But, at major resorts, stretches of brisk, wintry liberation on the slopes are interrupted by long chairlift and gondola rides, during which people sit shoulder to shoulder and knee to knee with a perpetually rotating cast of strangers. The National Brotherhood may not have brought the virus to Idaho, but it did bring the party, and, in ski towns across America and the rest of the world this winter, the two have gone hand in hand. Ski-resort areas in California, Colorado, and elsewhere “show higher infection rates than more densely populated cities nearby,” Adventure Journal noted, including Mono County, California, the home of Mammoth Mountain Ski Area, which now has the highest per-capita rate of COVID-19 in the state. In Europe, several governments tracked hundreds of coronavirus cases to one Austrian ski town, with some epidemiological reports identifying beer-pong tables as a potential source of infection. In Mexico, the chairman of the Mexican Stock Exchange tested positive after returning from a ski trip to Colorado’s Vail resort.
Debbie Bacca, a project manager at a construction company, was one of the après-ski revellers in Sun Valley’s River Run Lodge on March 6th, mingling with hundreds of skiers and boarders under giant timber beams and an Annie Leibovitz portrait of Arnold Schwarzenegger, a sometime local, posing on skis in a skintight T-shirt. As Bacca and five of her friends sat down at a lodge table, one of them said, “We should wipe this down.” Awareness of the coronavirus was mounting: the next morning, neighboring Washington State confirmed a hundred and two cases and its sixteenth death. But Bacca and the others in her group never did get around to wiping down the table. Within days, five of the six were stricken. The Idaho Department of Health and Welfare considers Bacca to be the first official case of COVID-19 in the county.
But she is almost certainly not Patient Zero. A week earlier, in the waning days of February, Bart Lassman, who recently retired after twenty-one years as the chief of the Wood River Fire and Rescue Department, was locking into his ski boots for an early-morning run with his usual group of ski buddies. They discussed whether to take the chairlift or risk getting stuck with a potentially infected tourist on the gondola. They chose the warmth of the gondola, figuring they could keep the cabin to themselves. But then an unfamiliar man hopped aboard. As the steel cable whisked them up Bald Mountain, they made small talk with the visitor, who had just arrived the day before from Seattle. He had a place in Sun Valley but hadn’t been back since Christmas, he said. As the gondola cleared the first ridgeline and Ketchum came into view beneath them, the man took a phone call from his office back in Seattle.
“Shut everything down. Send everybody home. We’re closing down shop,” he said, before hanging up. One of his employees had shown up that day with COVID-19 symptoms, he announced to the gondola. Then he asked how the snow had been.
Sun Valley followed the lead of Vail Resorts and closed its mountains on March 15th. But, even as the lifts stopped spinning, the confirmed cases in Blaine County kept rising, and the county sent out a surreal robocall instructing residents not to panic, outsiders kept flowing in. As the pandemic curve climbs toward its unknown apex here, there is a sense among the local population that the same visitors who brought the virus in the first place are now sticking around, lying low but straining the resources, filling the hiking trails, crowding the supermarket aisles, making the takeout orders. St. Luke’s hospital in Ketchum has been sending COVID-19-positive patients to affiliated facilities in Twin Falls (seventy-eight miles south) and Boise (a hundred and fifty miles west), by road and by air. A hospital spokesperson said that St. Luke’s has an adequate supply of I.C.U. beds and ventilators, but declined to say how many.
Atkinsons’ Market, the town’s central grocery store, is preparing anywhere from seventy to a hundred delivery or pickup orders a day, some for cars waiting outside, and some for large houses on the outskirts of town. In normal times, ten deliveries in a day would be a lot. Inside the store, new faces keep arriving. “When someone asks you where to find something basic, like eggs, you know they are not from here,” Sharon Pyle, Atkinsons’ specialty-food manager, said. Several restaurant workers in Ketchum told me that, in the past two weeks, about half their takeout orders were from people calling on out-of-state numbers: Washington, California, even Louisiana. “Clearly, that is not an Idaho accent,” one worker said.
Bradshaw said that he and the city staff are discouraging visitors. “There’s really no reason for people to be here,” he said, but he also admitted that there was little he could do to stop it. “If someone has a home here, we can’t stop them from going to their home.” Several locals told me that, walking around some neighborhoods, they noticed that half the parked cars are from out of state. “I just don’t understand why anyone would want to come here,” the restaurant worker said. “Why would you go to a place with a much higher infection rate?”
Tensions between big-spending outsiders and the local workforce that relies on their spending define life in any vacation town. But, in a pandemic, the calculus is changing. In the Idaho Mountain Express classifieds, one local summed up the situation in Biblical terms: “To everyone coming here to ‘ride out the storm,’ please stay in for 2 weeks before you immerse yourself in our town. Please don’t buy a 3-month supply of groceries, leaving little for the rest of us. Don’t be a plague of locusts.”
A Guide to the Coronavirus


newyorker--2020-04-03--Fauci Urges Non-Essential Worker to Go Home

WASHINGTON ( The Borowitz Report ) —Dr .
Anthony Fauci has urged a non-essential employee of the White House Coronavirus @ @ @ @ @ immediately , Fauci confirmed on Friday .
Speaking to reporters , the esteemed virologist said @ @ @ @ @ to expel the worker for “ the health and safety of others.
” “ He @ @ @ @ @ coming to work every day , ” Fauci said .
“ I told him , @ @ @ @ @ , but by coming into work you are endangering the lives of countless others.
’ @ @ @ @ @ decision to send the non-essential worker home was based on the most recent scientific findings @ @ @ @ @ re learning is that breathing and talking can put lives in jeopardy , and this @ @ @ @ @ and talking than anyone else on the team , ” he said .
The employee @ @ @ @ @ hours a day in isolation watching television , a two-hour increase from his normal routine @

WASHINGTON (The Borowitz Report)—Dr. Anthony Fauci has urged a non-essential employee of the White House Coronavirus Task Force to go home immediately, Fauci confirmed on Friday.
Speaking to reporters, the esteemed virologist said that he made the decision to expel the worker for “the health and safety of others.”
“He said that he felt fine coming to work every day,” Fauci said. “I told him, ‘You may feel fine, but by coming into work you are endangering the lives of countless others.’ ”
Fauci said that his decision to send the non-essential worker home was based on the most recent scientific findings.
“What we’re learning is that breathing and talking can put lives in jeopardy, and this one worker did more breathing and talking than anyone else on the team,” he said.
The employee is expected to spend fourteen hours a day in isolation watching television, a two-hour increase from his normal routine.