newyorker--2020-05-13--The Trump Administration’s Deportation Policy Is Spreading the Coronavirus

On March 28th , two days after he was deported to Guatemala from a detention center in Arizona , a twenty-nine-year-old man , from a village in the country ’ s western highlands , became known as Patient 36 .
Up to that point , there had been thirty-five registered cases of COVID-19 in Guatemala , and Patient 36 was the first returning deportee to test positive for the illness .
He had been put on a plane—part of a deportation fleet known as ICE Air—with forty other passengers , most of whom , like him , had spent several @ @ @ @ @ @ @ they were briefly held in Guatemala City and evaluated , but , because the authorities claimed that he showed no symptoms , he was allowed to travel to his family ’ s home , in Momostenango , Totonicapán , where six other relatives , including a nine-month-old baby , lived .
By the time he got there , he had a fever and a cough .
A local health official told the newspaper El Periódico that the man ’ s wife had known that he was ill before he left the capital .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ , which tested him .
Almost a week later , the Guatemalan government announced that another deportee—a thirty-one-year-old man from Mazatenango , about eighty kilometres south of Momostenango—had also tested positive , making him Patient 49 .
Guatemala , a nation of eighteen million people , has only two large urban hospitals and a regional patchwork of smaller medical facilities ; its capacity to contain a virulent pandemic is limited .
The government of President Alejandro Giammattei , who is a trained surgeon , suspended international flights into the country , and border @ @ @ @ @ @ @ question was whether the government could persuade the Trump Administration to help it limit the spread of the coronavirus—the United States was fast becoming the global epicenter of the pandemic .
As of late last month , there were some five thousand Guatemalans in U.S. immigration detention , and every week the Department of Homeland Security was sending between one and five flights to Guatemala City , each carrying up to a hundred and thirty-five deportees .
Other countries in the region have been forced to deal with deportees infected with the virus @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Salvador , Mexico , and Haiti , many of which have fragile heath-care systems , scant hospital space , and a dearth of ventilators .
The United States deported eighteen thousand people in March , and nearly three thousand in the first eleven days of April .
By then , the Trump Administration had also effectively sealed the U.S. border to immigrants , ending asylum and turning away tens of thousands of people , including unaccompanied children .
The coronavirus was a convenient pretext for curbing immigration in all forms ; President Trump @ @ @ @ @ @ @ adviser Stephen Miller , also announced cuts to pending green-card applications .
According to the Times , Miller , who within six months of Trump ’ s taking office had tried to convince the President to limit immigration in the name of public health , frequently described migrants as “ vectors of disease.
” Late last week , Miller ’ s wife , an aide to Vice-President Mike Pence , tested positive for COVID-19 , raising questions about the U.S. government ’ s ability to shield its own top officials from the virus @ @ @ @ @ @ @ toll has reached eighty thousand .
The irony has not been lost on Central Americans , because it is the United States that currently poses a public-health threat to them .
In mid-April , there were more than six hundred thousand known cases in the United States , compared with a total of less than eight hundred in El Salvador , Honduras , and Guatemala combined .
Nevertheless , when the Guatemalan government temporarily suspended the arrival of some deportation flights , to buy time to test other deportees , Trump signed an @ @ @ @ @ @ @ sanctions on countries that “ denied ” or “ delayed ” the reception of deportees .
“ The U.S. was being heavy-headed , and the Guatemalans didn ’ t want to pay too high a price , ” a person advising the Guatemalan government told me .
“ They don ’ t want the wrath of the U.S. right now.
” The flights resumed , and , a few days later , Guatemala ’ s health minister , Hugo Monroy , announced that between fifty and seventy-five per cent of deportees who had @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to be infected .
In mid-April , the authorities said that seventy-four cases had originated from just two deportation flights .
U.S. officials considered this an exaggeration , and sent scientists from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention to conduct tests .
Those results confirmed the Guatemalan government ’ s analysis : when twelve deportees were selected at random , they all tested positive .
By the end of the month , roughly twenty per cent of the nearly seven hundred confirmed cases of COVID-19 in Guatemala were people who had been @ @ @ @ @ @ @ not stigmatize , ” Monroy said .
“ But I have to speak clearly .
The arrival of deportees who have tested positive has really increased the number of cases.
” The United States , he added , had become “ the Wuhan of the Americas.
” There are two broad ways of understanding the public-health dangers posed by current U.S. immigration policy .
One is as a reflection of the Administration ’ s callous and politically shortsighted regard for the wider region .
“ Decisions are always screened through the lens of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ s reëlection , ” an American official told me .
“ The White House doesn ’ t have time for Guatemala ’ s bullshit .
Deportations must continue.
” The second way concerns the management of American detention centers , in which some thirty thousand people are being held in substandard conditions that heighten the risk of spreading disease .
The agency in charge of detention , ICE , spent the first two months of the pandemic insisting that detainees were safe , but it was slow to conduct testing .
Many detainees @ @ @ @ @ @ @ they “ don ’ t want to die in here , ” have launched hunger strikes to protest conditions in which social distancing is virtually impossible .
An asylum-seeking Cuban doctor , who is being held in a privately run facility in Louisiana , told the Mississippi Free Press , “ There ’ s no way to ‘ distance ’ here .
We sleep in bunk beds on top of each other , in columns with less than a few feet between us , head to toe .
We use the same cafeteria @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in between .
.
.
.
My medical opinion is that many people will die.
” Most detention centers were punishing places before the pandemic .
In 2017 , ICE inspectors found that the medical unit at a facility in Irwin County , Georgia , which had a long history of sanitation and health-care infractions , fell short of federal standards .
Little seems to have been done there to institute precautions or protocol since the coronavirus outbreak .
According to a report by Type Investigations , a woman who arrived at the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ that she felt sick—she had a cough—but they ignored her .
She later joined more than seventy other women in a dorm area in which the beds are less than three feet apart .
It ’ s unclear whether the woman was infected , but someone in the facility was ; in April , a guard and a detainee tested positive for COVID-19 .

On March 28th, two days after he was deported to Guatemala from a detention center in Arizona, a twenty-nine-year-old man, from a village in the country’s western highlands, became known as Patient 36. Up to that point, there had been thirty-five registered cases of COVID-19 in Guatemala, and Patient 36 was the first returning deportee to test positive for the illness. He had been put on a plane—part of a deportation fleet known as ICE Air—with forty other passengers, most of whom, like him, had spent several weeks in detention. After landing, they were briefly held in Guatemala City and evaluated, but, because the authorities claimed that he showed no symptoms, he was allowed to travel to his family’s home, in Momostenango, Totonicapán, where six other relatives, including a nine-month-old baby, lived. By the time he got there, he had a fever and a cough. A local health official told the newspaper El Periódico that the man’s wife had known that he was ill before he left the capital. She alerted a medical clinic in town, which tested him. Almost a week later, the Guatemalan government announced that another deportee—a thirty-one-year-old man from Mazatenango, about eighty kilometres south of Momostenango—had also tested positive, making him Patient 49.
Guatemala, a nation of eighteen million people, has only two large urban hospitals and a regional patchwork of smaller medical facilities; its capacity to contain a virulent pandemic is limited. The government of President Alejandro Giammattei, who is a trained surgeon, suspended international flights into the country, and border transit largely ceased. But an obvious question was whether the government could persuade the Trump Administration to help it limit the spread of the coronavirus—the United States was fast becoming the global epicenter of the pandemic. As of late last month, there were some five thousand Guatemalans in U.S. immigration detention, and every week the Department of Homeland Security was sending between one and five flights to Guatemala City, each carrying up to a hundred and thirty-five deportees.
Other countries in the region have been forced to deal with deportees infected with the virus, including Colombia, Honduras, El Salvador, Mexico, and Haiti, many of which have fragile health-care systems, scant hospital space, and a dearth of ventilators. The United States deported eighteen thousand people in March, and nearly three thousand in the first eleven days of April. By then, the Trump Administration had also effectively sealed the U.S. border to immigrants, ending asylum and turning away tens of thousands of people, including unaccompanied children. The coronavirus was a convenient pretext for curbing immigration in all forms; President Trump, at the behest of his senior adviser Stephen Miller, also announced cuts to pending green-card applications. According to the Times, Miller, who within six months of Trump’s taking office had tried to convince the President to limit immigration in the name of public health, frequently described migrants as “vectors of disease.” Late last week, Miller’s wife, an aide to Vice-President Mike Pence, tested positive for COVID-19, raising questions about the U.S. government’s ability to shield its own top officials from the virus at a time when the American death toll has reached eighty thousand.
The irony has not been lost on Central Americans, because it is the United States that currently poses a public-health threat to them. In mid-April, there were more than six hundred thousand known cases in the United States, compared with a total of less than eight hundred in El Salvador, Honduras, and Guatemala combined. Nevertheless, when the Guatemalan government temporarily suspended the arrival of some deportation flights, to buy time to test other deportees, Trump signed an order threatening to impose a raft of sanctions on countries that “denied” or “delayed” the reception of deportees. “The U.S. was being heavy-headed, and the Guatemalans didn’t want to pay too high a price,” a person advising the Guatemalan government told me. “They don’t want the wrath of the U.S. right now.”
The flights resumed, and, a few days later, Guatemala’s health minister, Hugo Monroy, announced that between fifty and seventy-five per cent of deportees who had just arrived in the country were found to be infected. In mid-April, the authorities said that seventy-four cases had originated from just two deportation flights. U.S. officials considered this an exaggeration, and sent scientists from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention to conduct tests. Those results confirmed the Guatemalan government’s analysis: when twelve deportees were selected at random, they all tested positive. By the end of the month, roughly twenty per cent of the nearly seven hundred confirmed cases of COVID-19 in Guatemala were people who had been deported from the U.S. “We must not stigmatize,” Monroy said. “But I have to speak clearly. The arrival of deportees who have tested positive has really increased the number of cases.” The United States, he added, had become “the Wuhan of the Americas.”
There are two broad ways of understanding the public-health dangers posed by current U.S. immigration policy. One is as a reflection of the Administration’s callous and politically shortsighted disregard for the wider region. “Decisions are always screened through the lens of whether or not they help POTUS’s reëlection,” an American official told me. “The White House doesn’t have time for Guatemala’s bullshit. Deportations must continue.” The second way concerns the management of American detention centers, in which some thirty thousand people are being held in substandard conditions that heighten the risk of spreading disease. The agency in charge of detention, ICE, spent the first two months of the pandemic insisting that detainees were safe, but it was slow to conduct testing. Many detainees across the country, who say that they “don’t want to die in here,” have launched hunger strikes to protest conditions in which social distancing is virtually impossible. An asylum-seeking Cuban doctor, who is being held in a privately run facility in Louisiana, told the Mississippi Free Press, “There’s no way to ‘distance’ here. We sleep in bunk beds on top of each other, in columns with less than a few feet between us, head to toe. We use the same cafeteria as those in quarantine with no cleaning in between. . . . My medical opinion is that many people will die.”
Most detention centers were punishing places before the pandemic. In 2017, ICE inspectors found that the medical unit at a facility in Irwin County, Georgia, which had a long history of sanitation and health-care infractions, fell short of federal standards. Little seems to have been done there to institute precautions or protocol since the coronavirus outbreak. According to a report by Type Investigations, a woman who arrived at the facility in late March told the staff that she felt sick—she had a cough—but they ignored her. She later joined more than seventy other women in a dorm area in which the beds are less than three feet apart. It’s unclear whether the woman was infected, but someone in the facility was; in April, a guard and a detainee tested positive for COVID-19.
Because testing in the facilities has been sporadic and inconsistent, ICE officials have not had a clear sense of how widely the disease has spread among those in custody. On April 11th, BuzzFeed News reported, the agency began bussing and flying dozens of immigrants held in the Northeast to a detention center across the country, apparently to try to limit density in centers with known cases; among those transferred, however, twenty-one were already infected. In mid-April, ICE reported about a hundred COVID-19 cases in custody. A month later, having tested sixteen hundred and eighty-six detainees, it registered eight hundred and sixty-nine positive cases. About half of all the people who’ve been tested in custody are infected, meaning that there could already be more than ten thousand detainees exposed to the virus.
Under pressure from federal courts, ICE has released on bond a hundred and ninety-two detainees who are at a higher risk of succumbing to COVID-19, owing to preëxisting medical conditions. But it has resisted calls to release other groups who should not have been detained in the first place. As of late April, “there were more than five thousand asylum seekers still in ICE detention, even after D.H.S. ruled that they had credible persecution claims,” Kevin Landy, who was in charge of ICE’s Office of Detention Policy and Planning under President Obama, told me. “There are another forty-five hundred detainees who were arrested by ICE even though they had no criminal convictions. ICE should release those detainees, for starters.” The Trump Administration has made a point of expanding the number of people that ICE keeps in custody, in large part to send a message to anyone who might seek refuge in the U.S. in the future, and it has shown no willingness to relent in the name of public health. Earlier this spring, when the current head of ICE, Matthew Albence, indicated that the agency might limit enforcement operations, unnamed White House officials attacked him in the press and vowed to continue roundups.
The high rates of infection among deportees returning to Guatemala made international headlines, but that was primarily because the government briefly tried to stand up to Washington. Coming from Giammattei, a conservative who was sworn into the Presidency in January, the move was unexpected. The neighboring countries of El Salvador and Honduras also have citizens held in U.S. detention centers. Nevertheless, they have allowed deportation flights to continue, claiming that they have relatively low levels of infections, particularly among deportees. In the case of El Salvador, that is plausible, because far fewer Salvadorans are now being apprehended in the U.S. compared with Guatemalans and Hondurans. Last week, though, ICE announced the first person in custody to die from COVID-19: a fifty-seven-year-old man, held at a facility in California, named Carlos Ernesto Escobar Mejia—a Salvadoran.


newyorker--2020-05-13--Do “Murder Hornets” Really Exist?

Do “Murder Hornets” Really Exist?

In the Old Testament , God wrought ten plagues upon humanity .
In modern times , we have our hands full with just one : COVID-19 .
Or so we thought , until it was reported , in the May 2nd edition of the Times , that a new pestilence is afoot .
“ Murder hornets ” with “ mandibles shaped like spiked shark fins , ” we were told , were descending upon North America from their native habitat of Asia .
Within twenty-four hours , the hashtag # murderhornets was trending on Twitter , fuelled by all the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ discovered species of homicidal Pokémon .
Sensing a rare non-virus viral story , major media outlets ranging from the Washington Post to Fox News pounced .
They began amplifying the insect threat with their own details , many of them simply rephrased from the original piece ; by the middle of last week , Jimmy Fallon was interviewing a “ murder hornet ” in costume on “ The Tonight Show.
” ( “ Look , we ’ re just regular old bees who happen to make things fall asleep forever.
” ) This @ @ @ @ @ @ @ topics drive the modern news cycle , but it ’ s also a testament to the power of a catchy label .
Murder hornet is the nickname bestowed upon Vespa mandarinia , the already formidable-sounding Asian giant hornet , which is native to large swaths of East Asia .
The Japanese call it ōsuzumebachi : literally , giant sparrow-hornet .
They aren ’ t actually sparrow-size ; the biggest specimens come in at just under two inches long .
But that is cold comfort when one hears their menacing , resonant buzz approaching @ @ @ @ @ @ @ disconcerting regularity if you spend time outdoors during the summer months in Japan .
The monsoons and humidity that can make Japan difficult to bear during the summer also make it a haven for insects and other creepy-crawlies .
Some of them grow to truly enormous proportions .
To the sparrow-hornet you can add startlingly large cockroaches , enormous orb-weaver spiders , and centipedes that can reach six inches in length .
So , too , palm-size rhinoceros beetles and stag beetles .
Unlike the dreaded hornet and its ilk , these gentle @ @ @ @ @ @ @ males use their horns to wrestle each other away from sources of food and from potential mates .
Collected by children and squared off in sumo-style matches , these giant armored beetles provided the cultural template for the virtual battles that Japanese video-game designers would perfect in the eighties and nineties .
I know these things both because I love bugs enough to have flirted with majoring in entomology during my university studies , and because I have lived in Tokyo for close to twenty years .
Even in the city , one @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the summer months .
Here , they are rightfully feared even without nicknames , and incidents involving them regularly make headlines .
Like all wasps and other hornets , and unlike honeybees , giant hornets have smooth stingers that allow them to attack repeatedly .
The Asian giant hornet ’ s barb packs an especially potent poison , and , every year , dozens of Japanese lose their lives as a result of anaphylactic shock .
Asian giant hornets tend to nest in hidden places , such as the hollows of trees or @ @ @ @ @ @ @ simply approaching , these hives is dangerous work .
Their stingers easily penetrate standard beekeeping suits , necessitating thick protective gear and specialized equipment such as vacuums to suck the creatures out of the air as they mass to protect their homes .
For all their ferocity , however , I had never once heard them referred to as “ murder hornets ” in Japanese .
The first time I saw the name was , as for many Americans , when I read it in the Times that weekend .
The phrase immediately @ @ @ @ @ @ @ I knew , satsujin bachi , is simply “ killer hornet , ” Japan ’ s matter-of-fact equivalent of the English-language “ killer bee.
” Even that usage was largely relegated to tabloid news and variety shows .
I had never heard a hornet called a “ murderer ” —how could it be ?
A murder requires premeditation .
We don ’ t speak of bears or tigers murdering people .
Why , suddenly , hornets ?
I had a guess .
Linguistically , the common Japanese word satsujin—written with the characters “ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ not clearly distinguish between a person being “ murdered ” or “ killed.
” This ambiguity means that if one looks up satsujin in a Japanese-English dictionary , they will be presented with a list of options that includes the words “ murder , ” “ manslaughter , ” and “ killer.
” It is up to the translator to select the proper word based on context .
I strongly suspected that this linguistic subtlety had been lost in translation .
For , as terrifying as the giant hornet may be , I @ @ @ @ @ @ @ it as possessing homicidal intent .
Curious , I approached Junichi Takahashi , a Japanese entomologist , who was quoted in the Times ’ original report .
When I explained my mission , it seemed that Professor Takahashi didn ’ t want to stir the hornet ’ s nest with another interview , but he did aver that “ giant , killer , and murder are general names used by the media.
” Not everyone is happy about the dramatic nicknaming of the creatures .
“ They are not ‘ murder hornets.
’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Washington Agriculture Department entomologist Chris Looney told the Washington Post .
“ It ’ s kind of a sensational term , ” agreed the Texas A & M entomologist Molly Keck in an interview with a San Antonio television station .
The linking of the foreign-born insects with a scary word , in this case “ murder , ” skirts dangerously close to uncomfortable territory : those of a certain age will recall the “ Africanized killer bee ” scare of the seventies , with all of its race-baiting overtones , and , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ s strenuous efforts to relabel the coronavirus as a specifically “ Chinese ” virus .
The phrase “ murder hornets ” leapt into the lexicon mere weeks ago , but its rapid percolation throughout the mediasphere evokes the way new dangers spread so fluidly through a globalized modern world .
The ōsuzumebachi hornets have troubled the residents of Japan since time immemorial .
That these tiny terrors have suddenly appeared on the American side of the Pacific is only the latest curveball from Mother Nature , and another reminder that the borders we @ @ @ @ @ @ @ on a map or nicknames given to things that frighten us , are meaningless to natural threats like insects or viruses .

In the Old Testament, God wrought ten plagues upon humanity. In modern times, we have our hands full with just one: COVID-19. Or so we thought, until it was reported, in the May 2nd edition of the Times, that a new pestilence is afoot. “Murder hornets” with “mandibles shaped like spiked shark fins,” we were told, were descending upon North America from their native habitat of Asia. Within twenty-four hours, the hashtag #murderhornets was trending on Twitter, fuelled by all the excitement befitting what sounds like a newly discovered species of homicidal Pokémon. Sensing a rare non-virus viral story, major media outlets ranging from the Washington Post to Fox News pounced. They began amplifying the insect threat with their own details, many of them simply rephrased from the original piece; by the middle of last week, Jimmy Fallon was interviewing a “murder hornet” in costume on “The Tonight Show.” (“Look, we’re just regular old bees who happen to make things fall asleep forever.”)
This is a familiar story of how trending topics drive the modern news cycle, but it’s also a testament to the power of a catchy label. Murder hornet is the nickname bestowed upon Vespa mandarinia, the already formidable-sounding Asian giant hornet, which is native to large swaths of East Asia. The Japanese call it ōsuzumebachi: literally, giant sparrow-hornet. They aren’t actually sparrow-size; the biggest specimens come in at just under two inches long. But that is cold comfort when one hears their menacing, resonant buzz approaching, which is something that occurs with disconcerting regularity if you spend time outdoors during the summer months in Japan.
The monsoons and humidity that can make Japan difficult to bear during the summer also make it a haven for insects and other creepy-crawlies. Some of them grow to truly enormous proportions. To the sparrow-hornet you can add startlingly large cockroaches, enormous orb-weaver spiders, and centipedes that can reach six inches in length. So, too, palm-size rhinoceros beetles and stag beetles. Unlike the dreaded hornet and its ilk, these gentle giants are beloved traditional playthings. The males use their horns to wrestle each other away from sources of food and from potential mates. Collected by children and squared off in sumo-style matches, these giant armored beetles provided the cultural template for the virtual battles that Japanese video-game designers would perfect in the eighties and nineties.
I know these things both because I love bugs enough to have flirted with majoring in entomology during my university studies, and because I have lived in Tokyo for close to twenty years. Even in the city, one has occasional run-ins with giant hornets during the summer months. Here, they are rightfully feared even without nicknames, and incidents involving them regularly make headlines. Like all wasps and other hornets, and unlike honeybees, giant hornets have smooth stingers that allow them to attack repeatedly. The Asian giant hornet’s barb packs an especially potent poison, and, every year, dozens of Japanese lose their lives as a result of anaphylactic shock. Asian giant hornets tend to nest in hidden places, such as the hollows of trees or ground burrows. Removing, or even simply approaching, these hives is dangerous work. Their stingers easily penetrate standard beekeeping suits, necessitating thick protective gear and specialized equipment such as vacuums to suck the creatures out of the air as they mass to protect their homes.
For all their ferocity, however, I had never once heard them referred to as “murder hornets” in Japanese. The first time I saw the name was, as for many Americans, when I read it in the Times that weekend. The phrase immediately piqued my interest. The closest analogue I knew, satsujin bachi, is simply “killer hornet,” Japan’s matter-of-fact equivalent of the English-language “killer bee.” Even that usage was largely relegated to tabloid news and variety shows. I had never heard a hornet called a “murderer”—how could it be? A murder requires premeditation. We don’t speak of bears or tigers murdering people. Why, suddenly, hornets?
I had a guess. Linguistically, the common Japanese word satsujin—written with the characters “kill” and “person”—does not clearly distinguish between a person being “murdered” or “killed.” This ambiguity means that if one looks up satsujin in a Japanese-English dictionary, they will be presented with a list of options that includes the words “murder,” “manslaughter,” and “killer.” It is up to the translator to select the proper word based on context. I strongly suspected that this linguistic subtlety had been lost in translation. For, as terrifying as the giant hornet may be, I have never heard anyone in Japan portray it as possessing homicidal intent. Curious, I approached Junichi Takahashi, a Japanese entomologist, who was quoted in the Times’ original report. When I explained my mission, it seemed that Professor Takahashi didn’t want to stir the hornet’s nest with another interview, but he did aver that “giant, killer, and murder are general names used by the media.”
Not everyone is happy about the dramatic nicknaming of the creatures. “They are not ‘murder hornets.’ They are just hornets,” the Washington Agriculture Department entomologist Chris Looney told the Washington Post. “It’s kind of a sensational term,” agreed the Texas A&M entomologist Molly Keck in an interview with a San Antonio television station. The linking of the foreign-born insects with a scary word, in this case “murder,” skirts dangerously close to uncomfortable territory: those of a certain age will recall the “Africanized killer bee” scare of the seventies, with all of its race-baiting overtones, and, more recently, the Trump Administration’s strenuous efforts to relabel the coronavirus as a specifically “Chinese” virus.
The phrase “murder hornets” leapt into the lexicon mere weeks ago, but its rapid percolation throughout the mediasphere evokes the way new dangers spread so fluidly through a globalized modern world. The ōsuzumebachi hornets have troubled the residents of Japan since time immemorial. That these tiny terrors have suddenly appeared on the American side of the Pacific is only the latest curveball from Mother Nature, and another reminder that the borders we surround ourselves with, whether lines drawn on a map or nicknames given to things that frighten us, are meaningless to natural threats like insects or viruses.


newyorker--2020-05-13--“Diary of a Drag Queen” and the Journey to Self-Invention

Tom Rasmussen is putting on makeup .
Pats of powder , streaks of highlighter .
“ The transformation is slow , ” they write in their new memoir , “ Diary of a Drag Queen.
” ( Tom , who is nonbinary , takes the pronoun “ they.
” ) A presence is quietly building : louche , discerning .
It belongs to Crystal , Tom ’ s onstage persona , a fabulously wealthy singer and the co-author of the book .
( Crystal also happens to be a serial divorcée , a murderess , and the lost Romanov duchess—on @ @ @ @ @ @ @ we find out how Rasputin died . )
But back to the mirror .
“ There ’ s no aha moment , ” Tom continues .
“ It ’ s more like a dragon slowly awakening : its wings are my femininity , its fire is the belief she gives me that I can do anything , its thick scales are my ability to draw immense strength from my glorious transgression.
” At last , Crystal , fully summoned , interjects with her trademark bold italics : “ Dracarys , bitch !
” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ italicized .
One author reads as a human being .
The other , touching down and then departing in a rain of glitter , feels more like a force of nature .
“ I was always inexplicably performative , lewd , flamboyant , ” Tom writes .
Growing up , in Lancaster , England , they were enthralled by women : by their mum and grandma , who evinced a “ heady mix of northern savageness and warmth , ” and by Madonna and Celine Dion .
The diary—mostly narrated by Tom , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ between December 18 , 2015 , and December 17 , 2016 .
When the curtain rises , Tom , a twentysomething transplant in New York City , is working as a personal assistant in the fashion industry , where their duties include sexting the boss ’ s boyfriend .
( “ Last night , about 4:00 a.m. , wrapped in cum-soaked Calvin Klein Egyptian-cotton sheets , I realised I had to quit my first job in fashion.
” ) Broke and disillusioned , Tom moves to London , where Crystal reunites Denim , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ is a whirlwind of anecdote : there is poop , drugs , Kentucky Fried Chicken , karaoke , leather orgies , even a broken marriage engagement .
As Tom describes alienating family dinners and Crystal recalls her own challenges ( “ You all remember the James Franco thing ?
Where he was found , shoulder deep , in my asshole and had to self-amputate after 127 hours ?
” ) , a division of labor emerges .
Tom covers the nuance , doubt , and uncertainty of being a drag queen .
Crystal @ @ @ @ @ @ @ book itself is a mix of larger-than-life provocation and smaller , more relatable gestures .
Tom walks a delicate line between entertaining the reader , shocking her ( in one harrowing scene , a stranger verbally harasses Tom and then punches them in the face ) , and asserting characters ’ everyday humanity .
“ Diary ” is acutely aware of the trade-offs between drama and empathy .
“ The problem , ” Tom writes , “ is that when you paint on this barrier [ makeup ] , people no longer see @ @ @ @ @ @ @ you ’ re either sub- or superhuman.
” It is in part to restore characters to themselves that “ Diary ” threads its storytelling with explanation and analysis .
“ This book hopes to make academic concepts accessible to my mum , or me five years ago , using my life as the means to do that rather than using lofty language , ” Tom has said .
The memoir preëmpts tired critiques of drag culture , such as the idea that makeup shrouds one ’ s true self ( “ choosing how @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of authentic ” ) or that drag is inherently misogynistic .
( “ Femininity , when repossessed from fossilized ideas of what it should be , whether by drag queens or women , becomes a place of play , of beauty , of power , ” Tom argues . )
Drag unveils itself , throughout , as an art form tied to creative close-reading .
Onstage , Crystal is a captain of subtext , her “ glorious transgression ” “ proving that being a misfit is the best place to be.
” But @ @ @ @ @ @ @ s more didactic passages can leave little room for interpretation .
“ It ’ s stupid to think drag queens are stupid , ” they write .
Or : “ What was cracked by others , I put together and sealed with sequins and lipstick and feathers.
” For understandable reasons , the book appears not to entirely trust its audience , and that leads it to eschew certain forms of nuance and indirection .
The role that Tom has chosen , that of ambassador or guide , involves the practical challenge of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Ethical questions arise , too .
At what point does outside attention turn invasive ?
What separates entertainment and exploitation ?
These issues pressurize Tom ’ s story of being attacked by a stranger .
No sane person would enjoy reading about hate crimes , but the incident is darkly gripping , the threat seeming to slacken and then grow taut as , for a haunting moment , Tom and Crystal come face to face .
( “ ‘ Get up !
Get up !
’ Crystal urged as she stood over me @ @ @ @ @ @ @ pavement.
” ) While the tale is told with care and sensitivity , it ’ s lurid , ipso facto , and it highlights the extent to which Tom and Crystal , as narrators , must expose their own pain .
In the end , “ Diary ” manages to be several things at once .
Conjuring a sex club , Tom serves simultaneously as ethnographer , poet , and participant .
“ Upon entry , ” they write , “ a sea of shadowed bodies in various states of undress and pleasure @ @ @ @ @ @ @ knees , some in a circle looking down at one hard-working blow jobber sucking eight to ten dicks , some sitting on dicks .
.
.
.
Until you ’ re inside it , it all appears as one big , beating mass of flesh.
” Notice the “ you ” : Tom is thinking about voyeurism , spectatorship .
And yet their tone is loving ; the memory feels like a personal keepsake .
“ Once you ’ re in , ” Tom marvels , “ it ’ s like being absorbed @ @ @ @ @ @ @ lose all idea of space and time.
” The passage may educate newcomers , but it also seems designed to make those in the know feel seen .
Give “ Diary of a Drag Queen ” a 23andMe kit , and its genetic lineage will be revealed to be at least seventy per cent rom-com .
Tom has a cinema-ready—which is to say , not entirely naturalistic—sense of scene .
( At one point , fed up with their demeaning job , they storm out of a meeting with the boss .
“ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a star , ” they declare .
“ No .
I am a star !
” ) The book ’ s plot runs on traditional will-they-or-won ’ t-they suspense , plus or minus a gimp suit .
Tom is in love with their best friend , Ace , who loves them back , but is dating William , “ an incredibly handsome , thin , floppy black-haired , very cool East London boy whose demeanour flexes toward the masc.
” William , Tom emphasizes , is “ the polar opposite of me : @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Lancashire accent and an even flabbier belly.
” Falling for your hot best friend , cathartically quitting your nine-to-five : these are tried-and-true components of the rom-com , and their presence here speaks to a larger trend .
“ Diary ” captures the tensions flowing through a subculture which , a decade or so after the launch of “ RuPaul ’ s Drag Race , ” crackles with a mainstream allure .
There ’ s more of an expectation now that queens perform both for a general audience and for a niche group @ @ @ @ @ @ @ charisma and quick intelligence—two qualities that have long been prerequisites for drag , but that “ Diary ” puts on technicolor display .
“ Every year I think how funny it is that so many Christian denominations ( not all , I know ) hate gay but love Christmas , ” Rasmussen writes .
“ Like , aren ’ t they basically the same thing ?
Tinsel ?
.
.
.
A guy with major abs on a cross ?
”

Tom Rasmussen is putting on makeup. Pats of powder, streaks of highlighter. “The transformation is slow,” they write in their new memoir, “Diary of a Drag Queen.” (Tom, who is nonbinary, takes the pronoun “they.”) A presence is quietly building: louche, discerning. It belongs to Crystal, Tom’s onstage persona, a fabulously wealthy singer and the co-author of the book. (Crystal also happens to be a serial divorcée, a murderess, and the lost Romanov duchess—on page 339 of “Diary,” we find out how Rasputin died.) But back to the mirror. “There’s no aha moment,” Tom continues. “It’s more like a dragon slowly awakening: its wings are my femininity, its fire is the belief she gives me that I can do anything, its thick scales are my ability to draw immense strength from my glorious transgression.” At last, Crystal, fully summoned, interjects with her trademark bold italics: “Dracarys, bitch! ”
Crystal is Tom, but bolded, italicized. One author reads as a human being. The other, touching down and then departing in a rain of glitter, feels more like a force of nature. “I was always inexplicably performative, lewd, flamboyant,” Tom writes. Growing up, in Lancaster, England, they were enthralled by women: by their mum and grandma, who evinced a “heady mix of northern savageness and warmth,” and by Madonna and Celine Dion. The diary—mostly narrated by Tom, with spicy assists from Crystal—spans the year between December 18, 2015, and December 17, 2016. When the curtain rises, Tom, a twentysomething transplant in New York City, is working as a personal assistant in the fashion industry, where their duties include sexting the boss’s boyfriend. (“Last night, about 4:00 a.m., wrapped in cum-soaked Calvin Klein Egyptian-cotton sheets, I realised I had to quit my first job in fashion.”) Broke and disillusioned, Tom moves to London, where Crystal reunites Denim, her longtime drag supergroup. The book is a whirlwind of anecdote: there is poop, drugs, Kentucky Fried Chicken, karaoke, leather orgies, even a broken marriage engagement. As Tom describes alienating family dinners and Crystal recalls her own challenges (“You all remember the James Franco thing? Where he was found, shoulder deep, in my asshole and had to self-amputate after 127 hours?”), a division of labor emerges. Tom covers the nuance, doubt, and uncertainty of being a drag queen. Crystal covers the transcendence.
Similarly, the book itself is a mix of larger-than-life provocation and smaller, more relatable gestures. Tom walks a delicate line between entertaining the reader, shocking her (in one harrowing scene, a stranger verbally harasses Tom and then punches them in the face), and asserting characters’ everyday humanity. “Diary” is acutely aware of the trade-offs between drama and empathy. “The problem,” Tom writes, “is that when you paint on this barrier [makeup], people no longer see you as a person: in drag you’re either sub- or superhuman.”
It is in part to restore characters to themselves that “Diary” threads its storytelling with explanation and analysis. “This book hopes to make academic concepts accessible to my mum, or me five years ago, using my life as the means to do that rather than using lofty language,” Tom has said. The memoir preëmpts tired critiques of drag culture, such as the idea that makeup shrouds one’s true self (“choosing how you want to look is the definition of authentic”) or that drag is inherently misogynistic. (“Femininity, when repossessed from fossilized ideas of what it should be, whether by drag queens or women, becomes a place of play, of beauty, of power,” Tom argues.) Drag unveils itself, throughout, as an art form tied to creative close-reading. Onstage, Crystal is a captain of subtext, her “glorious transgression” “proving that being a misfit is the best place to be.”
But, on the page, Tom’s more didactic passages can leave little room for interpretation. “It’s stupid to think drag queens are stupid,” they write. Or: “What was cracked by others, I put together and sealed with sequins and lipstick and feathers.” For understandable reasons, the book appears not to entirely trust its audience, and that leads it to eschew certain forms of nuance and indirection. The role that Tom has chosen, that of ambassador or guide, involves the practical challenge of titrating the mysterious with the familiar. Ethical questions arise, too. At what point does outside attention turn invasive? What separates entertainment and exploitation? These issues pressurize Tom’s story of being attacked by a stranger. No sane person would enjoy reading about hate crimes, but the incident is darkly gripping, the threat seeming to slacken and then grow taut as, for a haunting moment, Tom and Crystal come face to face. (“ ‘Get up! Get up!’ Crystal urged as she stood over me, watching my blood pool onto the pavement.”) While the tale is told with care and sensitivity, it’s lurid, ipso facto, and it highlights the extent to which Tom and Crystal, as narrators, must expose their own pain.
In the end, “Diary” manages to be several things at once. Conjuring a sex club, Tom serves simultaneously as ethnographer, poet, and participant. “Upon entry,” they write, “a sea of shadowed bodies in various states of undress and pleasure greets you; some people on their knees, some in a circle looking down at one hard-working blow jobber sucking eight to ten dicks, some sitting on dicks. . . . Until you’re inside it, it all appears as one big, beating mass of flesh.” Notice the “you”: Tom is thinking about voyeurism, spectatorship. And yet their tone is loving; the memory feels like a personal keepsake. “Once you’re in,” Tom marvels, “it’s like being absorbed into a sponge . . . you lose all idea of space and time.” The passage may educate newcomers, but it also seems designed to make those in the know feel seen.
Give “Diary of a Drag Queen” a 23andMe kit, and its genetic lineage will be revealed to be at least seventy per cent rom-com. Tom has a cinema-ready—which is to say, not entirely naturalistic—sense of scene. (At one point, fed up with their demeaning job, they storm out of a meeting with the boss. “I’m gonna to be a star,” they declare. “No. I am a star!”) The book’s plot runs on traditional will-they-or-won’t-they suspense, plus or minus a gimp suit. Tom is in love with their best friend, Ace, who loves them back, but is dating William, “an incredibly handsome, thin, floppy black-haired, very cool East London boy whose demeanour flexes toward the masc.” William, Tom emphasizes, is “the polar opposite of me: a northern drag queen with a flabby Lancashire accent and an even flabbier belly.”
Falling for your hot best friend, cathartically quitting your nine-to-five: these are tried-and-true components of the rom-com, and their presence here speaks to a larger trend. “Diary” captures the tensions flowing through a subculture which, a decade or so after the launch of “RuPaul’s Drag Race,” crackles with a mainstream allure. There’s more of an expectation now that queens perform both for a general audience and for a niche group of fans. This balancing act requires charisma and quick intelligence—two qualities that have long been prerequisites for drag, but that “Diary” puts on technicolor display. “Every year I think how funny it is that so many Christian denominations (not all, I know) hate gay but love Christmas,” Rasmussen writes. “Like, aren’t they basically the same thing? Tinsel? . . . A guy with major abs on a cross?”
This reviewer, for her part, delighted in the deftness with which the book took ownership of inherited tropes. Queering the rom-com, or at least seeming to do so, actually spotlights the genre’s persistent debts to queerness, from the gender antics of “Twelfth Night” to Oscar Wilde’s silky social critiques. What felt less satisfying were the tropes themselves—their broadness, their lack of precision. After Tom endures the homophobic attack, their mother tearfully tells them, “Don’t you dare change the way you are. Be loud.” The moment registers as too lovely, too perfect: artistically false even if historically true.
And yet, paradoxically, such scenes might mitigate the book’s occasional tendency to spoon-feed ideas rather than letting the reader discover them for herself. We wonder: Did Rasmussen’s mum really say that, or has fantasy crept in? “Diary” trembles with this mutable quality; it glides between reverie and reality, inviting constant, active interpretation. A reader can take the more extravagant passages literally, or not—just as, perhaps, she can take Crystal literally, or not. The fact that metaphor is always available, that stylized moments might express what Tom yearns for, or deserves, rather than what actually happened, suggests that all of the personal history contained in the book is subject to self-invention. Drag, Rasmussen implies, means dreaming up something better than what you’ve been given. It means willing yourself into a fabulous life.


newyorker--2020-05-13--Fleeting Moments of Clarity in the Senate Hearing on the Coronavirus Response

Tuesday ’ s Senate Health Committee hearing on the coronavirus response was gavelled into session by video from Tennessee , where the chairman , Lamar Alexander , was ensconced in a room with his dog , who was sleeping on a couch in the background .
All four witnesses—Anthony Fauci , the director of the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases ; Robert Redfield , the head of the Centers for Disease Control ; Stephen Hahn , the Food and Drug Administration commissioner ; and Brett Giroir , an admiral who leads the Public Health Service Commissioned Corps—were joining @ @ @ @ @ @ @ witnesses except for Giroir were undergoing some form of self-isolation as a result of contact with people who had tested positive for the virus—part of a frantic effort in the past few days to contain an outbreak that included Vice-President Mike Pence ’ s press secretary .
Some of the other senators were participating remotely , too , and those who were present in the hearing room sat at least six feet apart .
Most had worn masks when they entered , but were told that they could take them off once they @ @ @ @ @ @ @ absence of participants was not the only reason , however , that much of the hearing had a strangely detached air ; the mood reflected a lack of consistent focus in the federal government ’ s response to the crisis .
There are many examples of heroism in hospitals , where health-care workers have exemplified the best of the country ’ s spirit , and in essential businesses such as grocery stores and in warehouses , too .
And yet it can seem that the power people have is inversely proportional to their @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , Donald Trump is the pinnacle of negligence , mismanagement , and freelance destructiveness , but he is not alone .
Last week , in The New Yorker , David Quammen provided a devastating look at what one of his sources called a “ lack of imagination ” in the C.D.C .
and similar institutions .
At the hearing , Redfield , who often conveyed the sense that the issue at hand was somebody else ’ s problem , did nothing to undermine that view .
Fauci has been a beacon in many @ @ @ @ @ @ @ moments during the hearing .
One came when Rand Paul complained that people were worrying too much about reopening , for which he partly blamed the media ; as Paul saw it , children are not dying of COVID-19 and so reopening schools should be a simple matter .
( Children , of course , are not the only people in school buildings and on buses—or in their homes . )
Paul admonished Fauci , saying that he was not the “ end all , ” and that he needed to be “ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ with an eloquent reminder that true humility includes an acknowledgment of what we do not know .
He noted that there is now clinical evidence of an inflammatory syndrome that is associated with COVID-19 , which appears to have killed at least three children in New York City , perhaps more .
“ I think we better be careful that we ’ re not cavalier , ” Fauci told him .
In more than one of his exchanges with the senators , Fauci also acknowledged that rushing to reopen too soon could be @ @ @ @ @ @ @ lead to “ little spikes that turn into outbreaks , ” and noted that “ there is a real risk that you will trigger an outbreak that you may not be able to control.
” He pointed to the White House ’ s guidelines for “ Opening Up America Again , ” which were issued in April , and advised against jumping over any of the benchmarks it offers for doing so , such as a “ downward trajectory of documented cases within a 14-day period.
” Yet Fauci was somewhat muted in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ aren ’ t listening to him , and that they appear to be the ones with the President ’ s support .
Leadership and truthtelling have been in such short supply that even a basic recognition of reality feels like a major victory .
One such moment came during the hearing , when Fauci told Bernie Sanders , of Vermont , that the current death count is almost certainly too low , in part because the shortage of tests has meant that a number of people who appeared to have COVID-19 did not @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , and that the autumn might see a second wave of cases .
The prospect of what Trump ’ s response would look like without a voice like Fauci ’ s is sobering to contemplate .
But it ’ s worth noting that the bar seems , at the moment , a bit too low .
Chris Murphy captured the frustration .
“ I think you ’ re all noble public servants , ” he told the witnesses .
“ But I worry that you ’ re trying to have it both ways @ @ @ @ @ @ @ t open too early , but then you don ’ t give us the resources to succeed .
You work for a President who is , frankly , undermining our efforts to comply with the guidance that you ’ ve given us , and then the guidance you ’ ve provided us is criminally vague.
” Turning to Redfield , Murphy asked about reports that Administration officials had shelved more detailed guidance from the C.D.C.
, which was meant to fill in some of the many gaps in the White House ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ some of its parameters too stringent .
Redfield responded with a string of vague phrases : the project had “ evolved from a C.D.C .
to an all-government response ” ; there was an “ interagency review ” ; state officials could always call , but , meanwhile , “ comments have come back to C.D.C .
and I anticipate they will go back to the task force.
” “ But we ’ re reopening in Connecticut in five days , ten days , ” Murphy said .
The state needs the detailed @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ready ?
None of the witnesses seemed truly able to own up to the failures that had led to a desperate shortage of diagnostic tests in the early months of the pandemic , and which allowed the virus to take hold and spread beyond the point of containment .
( Hahn ’ s F.D.A .
has presided over a follow-up failure , allowing the marketing of shoddy antibody tests . )
Giroir , in particular , glossed over the persistent inadequacy of testing , and boasted that the U.S. has now tested as @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Mitt Romney , speaking by video from Utah , in front of a wall covered with family photos , confronted Giroir for having “ celebrated ” matching South Korea ’ s numbers while he “ ignored the fact that they accomplished theirs at the beginning of the outbreak , while we treaded water during February and March.
” The difference in outcomes is stark , Romney noted : there are more than eighty thousand dead here , fewer than three hundred in South Korea .
Romney concluded , “ I find our testing @ @ @ @ @ @ @ what amounted to a rebuke to Giroir , who has played a role of cheerleader at White House press briefings , Romney said that , while he was used to politicians framing data “ in a way that ’ s most positive politically , ” he didn ’ t “ expect that from admirals.
” To his credit , Romney also prompted Fauci to rebut Trump ’ s recent incomprehensible accusation that Barack Obama had somehow held back the development of a COVID-19 vaccine ; Fauci confirmed that this was not the case @ @ @ @ @ @ @ was relatively straightforward , getting a clear sense of the way forward from the witnesses was often harder .
When Romney went on to ask Redfield why the C.D.C .
had not made available more real-time data , which would be crucial to tracking the course of the pandemic , the answer was dispiriting .
“ The reality is there ’ s an archaic system , ” Redfield said .

Tuesday’s Senate Health Committee hearing on the coronavirus response was gavelled into session by video from Tennessee, where the chairman, Lamar Alexander, was ensconced in a room with his dog, who was sleeping on a couch in the background. All four witnesses—Anthony Fauci, the director of the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases; Robert Redfield, the head of the Centers for Disease Control; Stephen Hahn, the Food and Drug Administration commissioner; and Brett Giroir, an admiral who leads the Public Health Service Commissioned Corps—were joining by video. Moreover, all the witnesses except for Giroir were undergoing some form of self-isolation as a result of contact with people who had tested positive for the virus—part of a frantic effort in the past few days to contain an outbreak that included Vice-President Mike Pence’s press secretary. Some of the other senators were participating remotely, too, and those who were present in the hearing room sat at least six feet apart. Most had worn masks when they entered, but were told that they could take them off once they were seated and speaking.
The physical absence of participants was not the only reason, however, that much of the hearing had a strangely detached air; the mood reflected a lack of consistent focus in the federal government’s response to the crisis. There are many examples of heroism in hospitals, where health-care workers have exemplified the best of the country’s spirit, and in essential businesses such as grocery stores and in warehouses, too. And yet it can seem that the power people have is inversely proportional to their sense of urgency; in those terms, Donald Trump is the pinnacle of negligence, mismanagement, and freelance destructiveness, but he is not alone. Last week, in The New Yorker, David Quammen provided a devastating look at what one of his sources called a “lack of imagination” in the C.D.C. and similar institutions. At the hearing, Redfield, who often conveyed the sense that the issue at hand was somebody else’s problem, did nothing to undermine that view.
Fauci has been a beacon in many ways, and he had some fine moments during the hearing. One came when Rand Paul complained that people were worrying too much about reopening, for which he partly blamed the media; as Paul saw it, children are not dying of COVID-19 and so reopening schools should be a simple matter. (Children, of course, are not the only people in school buildings and on buses—or in their homes.) Paul admonished Fauci, saying that he was not the “end all,” and that he needed to be “a little bit humble.” Fauci responded with an eloquent reminder that true humility includes an acknowledgment of what we do not know. He noted that there is now clinical evidence of an inflammatory syndrome that is associated with COVID-19, which appears to have killed at least three children in New York City, perhaps more. “I think we better be careful that we’re not cavalier,” Fauci told him.
In more than one of his exchanges with the senators, Fauci also acknowledged that rushing to reopen too soon could be a very bad idea, and possibly lead to “little spikes that turn into outbreaks,” and noted that “there is a real risk that you will trigger an outbreak that you may not be able to control.” He pointed to the White House’s guidelines for “Opening Up America Again,” which were issued in April, and advised against jumping over any of the benchmarks it offers for doing so, such as a “downward trajectory of documented cases within a 14-day period.” Yet Fauci was somewhat muted in confronting the reality that many governors simply aren’t listening to him, and that they appear to be the ones with the President’s support.
Leadership and truthtelling have been in such short supply that even a basic recognition of reality feels like a major victory. One such moment came during the hearing, when Fauci told Bernie Sanders, of Vermont, that the current death count is almost certainly too low, in part because the shortage of tests has meant that a number of people who appeared to have COVID-19 did not have the diagnosis confirmed before they died, and that the autumn might see a second wave of cases. The prospect of what Trump’s response would look like without a voice like Fauci’s is sobering to contemplate. But it’s worth noting that the bar seems, at the moment, a bit too low. Chris Murphy captured the frustration. “I think you’re all noble public servants,” he told the witnesses. “But I worry that you’re trying to have it both ways. You say that states shouldn’t open too early, but then you don’t give us the resources to succeed. You work for a President who is, frankly, undermining our efforts to comply with the guidance that you’ve given us, and then the guidance you’ve provided us is criminally vague.”
Turning to Redfield, Murphy asked about reports that Administration officials had shelved more detailed guidance from the C.D.C., which was meant to fill in some of the many gaps in the White House’s instructions for reopening, because they found some of its parameters too stringent. Redfield responded with a string of vague phrases: the project had “evolved from a C.D.C. to an all-government response”; there was an “interagency review”; state officials could always call, but, meanwhile, “comments have come back to C.D.C. and I anticipate they will go back to the task force.”
“But we’re reopening in Connecticut in five days, ten days,” Murphy said. The state needs the detailed guidelines now; when would they be ready?
“Soon,” Redfield said.
“Soon,” Murphy repeated, with a note of dismay.
None of the witnesses seemed truly able to own up to the failures that had led to a desperate shortage of diagnostic tests in the early months of the pandemic, and which allowed the virus to take hold and spread beyond the point of containment. (Hahn’s F.D.A. has presided over a follow-up failure, allowing the marketing of shoddy antibody tests.) Giroir, in particular, glossed over the persistent inadequacy of testing, and boasted that the U.S. has now tested as many people as did South Korea. Mitt Romney, speaking by video from Utah, in front of a wall covered with family photos, confronted Giroir for having “celebrated” matching South Korea’s numbers while he “ignored the fact that they accomplished theirs at the beginning of the outbreak, while we treaded water during February and March.” The difference in outcomes is stark, Romney noted: there are more than eighty thousand dead here, fewer than three hundred in South Korea. Romney concluded, “I find our testing record nothing to celebrate whatsoever.” In what amounted to a rebuke to Giroir, who has played a role of cheerleader at White House press briefings, Romney said that, while he was used to politicians framing data “in a way that’s most positive politically,” he didn’t “expect that from admirals.”
To his credit, Romney also prompted Fauci to rebut Trump’s recent incomprehensible accusation that Barack Obama had somehow held back the development of a COVID-19 vaccine; Fauci confirmed that this was not the case. But, while dismissing the absurdities was relatively straightforward, getting a clear sense of the way forward from the witnesses was often harder. When Romney went on to ask Redfield why the C.D.C. had not made available more real-time data, which would be crucial to tracking the course of the pandemic, the answer was dispiriting. “The reality is there’s an archaic system,” Redfield said.
Most of the Republicans on the committee were more supportive of the Administration, with some exceptions. Lisa Murkowski, of Alaska, noted, as a number of Democrats did, that she was not convinced that there was any sort of national strategic plan around contact tracing—another necessary element in containing outbreaks. Interestingly, Pat Roberts, of Kansas, who is far to the right and a resolute supporter of Trump, seemed to have been given pause by the impact of the virus on his state. Roberts, who appeared by video, in front of a large illustration of a stagecoach, noted that Kansas was “undergoing a tough time,” in large part due to outbreaks connected to meatpacking plants. (Tina Smith, of Minnesota, also spoke about the outbreaks at meatpacking plants in her state and, in particular, the plight of undocumented and uninsured workers—an aspect that Roberts didn’t mention.) Even though Roberts was careful to praise the Administration, his dissatisfaction with the testing situation came through. He came close to apologizing for not being more of a booster, but said, “I have to tell you, in terms of agriculture, we’re not in good shape.”


newyorker--2020-05-13--The Joy of Paul (Bear) Vasquez, the Double-Rainbow Guy

When I needed it most , about a month ago , I remembered a YouTube video , in which a pair of rainbows arc over Northern California ’ s Yosemite Valley .
In the description below the video , Paul L. Vasquez , who was known to his friends as Bear , wrote , “ It was rainbowing for at least an hour on January 8th 2010 .
It was incredible .
The camera could not capture the vivid intensity and brightness.
” A sober note was composed in tranquillity , as such things are .
I pressed Play for @ @ @ @ @ @ @ video , which has nearly forty-eight million views on YouTube , begins with casual narration from Vasquez ( “ Whoa , that ’ s a full rainbow ” ) , which quickly turns ecstatic : “ All the way !
Double rainbow !
Oh , my God—it ’ s a double rainbow all the way !
Whoa , that ’ s so intense !
Whoa , man .
.
.
.
Wow !
Wow !
Whoa !
Whoa !
Oh , my God !
Oh , my God !
Oh , my God @ @ @ @ @ @ @ for more than three minutes : Vasquez making sounds of astonishment coupled with laughter , then tears , then a pure and plaintive melding of the two , and a question , “ What does this mean ?
” On Sunday , the Modesto Bee reported that Vasquez had died , the previous day , in Mariposa , California .
He was fifty-seven and is survived by two adult children .
Born in East Los Angeles , he ’ d worked as a firefighter as a young man .
He once fought in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , but he didn ’ t like it , because he was not a macho guy , ” Beth Glover , a close friend of Vasquez ’ s , told me .
( He lost this lone fight . )
In Yosemite Valley , in the late eighties and nineties , Vasquez , who eventually grew a long gray beard that hung below long black curls and over a barrel chest , was a security officer and an E.M.T .
More recently , he worked odd jobs while farming and filming the twenty @ @ @ @ @ @ @ mobile home , ten miles outside Yosemite National Park .
In 1988 , as a twenty-five-year-old newcomer to the valley , Vasquez “ hacked ” that home “ out of the wilderness , ” as he put it in another video .
He called it Yosemite Bear Farm .
He grew plums , peaches , and mulberries on the property , which his cattle dogs roamed freely .
“ He even had a blood-orange tree , ” Glover told me .
“ It somehow survived , despite the snow.
” There , he @ @ @ @ @ @ @ It was a beautiful but not an easy life .
Last winter , a tree fell on his home , and it was impossible to keep it warm until spring .
“ I think that contributed to his decline , ” Glover said .
Glover is a nurse and got to know Vasquez after he ’ d become famous on the Internet .
“ He felt blessed by it , ” she said , of his fame .
“ He ’ d laugh— ‘ this is so cool and strange.
’ ” Vasquez @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and Tosh.0 .
He was invited to Iceland and Florida and New York .
He did a video for Delta Air Lines .
“ They got all the YouTube stars on the plane like they were passengers , ” Glover recalled .
Vasquez also met Jennifer Aniston , which , Glover said , “ made him really happy.
” At some point , Vasquez hatched a plan to grow his own “ Double Rainbow Weed , ” noting , in another video , “ There is a pot of gold at the end @ @ @ @ @ @ @ anywhere , but he apparently didn ’ t care .
“ He didn ’ t change , ” Beth Pratt , a longtime friend and the executive director of the California division of the National Wildlife Federation , told me .
She ’ d known Vasquez for twenty years .
“ He stayed that positive , happy , joyful soul , ” she said .
“ He appreciated life and all the twists and turns it took.
” Over the past decade , many have speculated , or simply assumed , that Vasquez @ @ @ @ @ @ @ rainbow .
A cynical thought , born of narrow , urban minds , and one that I myself had ten years ago , when my brother sent the video to me .
( This same brother went on to work three seasons in Yosemite , where he saw a “ moonbow , ” a kind of nocturnal rainbow caused by bright moonlight refracted , in his case , through a waterfall ’ s mist . )
Vasquez enjoyed cannabis but said that he had not been high .
“ That ’ s just @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Pratt told me .
“ A happy , happy person whose language was laughter .
He was never without a smile .
He always had that kid ’ s glint of excitement in his eye.
” She added , “ He didn ’ t hold it against people who thought he was just goofy.
” Glover told me about sitting outside Vasquez ’ s mobile home with him and listening to his wind chimes , whose music can be heard in the video .
He gained weight in his later years , but @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , and he “ swam with a beautiful stroke , ” Glover told me .
He once travelled to L.A. to help Pratt put on a wildlife festival .
“ I remember thanking him for doing that , ” Pratt recalled , “ and he said , ‘ That ’ s what I love to do , help people share happiness.
’ Something like that , anyway .
He always wanted you to share in his happiness.
” He spent a great deal of time trying to help the Miwok people , who @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and whose traditions were under threat .
“ He wasn ’ t perfect , ” Glover told me , “ but he was very good.
” Early this year , Vasquez became sick .
By late February , he was experiencing increasing respiratory distress and a fever , which sounded to Glover like pneumonia .
( He ’ d had respiratory issues for a long time , she told me . )
He thought maybe he ’ d had a heart attack , which he announced to his Facebook friends in a video @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ You could hear him wheezing in it , ” Glover said .
On May 3rd , Vasquez wrote on Facebook , “ Whatever happens I ’ m ready for it , I ’ m happy to experience it all , it might only be pollen and I ’ ll have more time in my apartment , if it ’ s the virus and it ’ s my time to recycle I look forward to coming back to a new body and starting over , whatever happens I ’ m enjoying the ride.
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ on May 5th .
“ I ’ ll get my results in two days , ” he wrote on Facebook , “ however at this point I ’ m fairly certain that I don ’ t have it.
” He died four days later .
The county coroner ’ s office did not disclose the cause of death .
“ He never said what it was to me , ” Glover said .
She added , “ He never wanted to be on life support , I know that.
” The morning before @ @ @ @ @ @ @ he was feeling better .
“ Maybe he was sheltering us , so we wouldn ’ t worry , ” she said .
“ The next thing I heard , he was gone.
” Pratt rewatched the double-rainbow video after learning of Vasquez ’ s death .
“ It gave me a sense almost like it was all gon na be O.K.
, ” she said .
She added , “ Someone that profoundly connected to the mysteries of the universe—he ’ s gon na be O.K .
He ’ s probably seeing @ @ @ @ @ @ @ for the answer to Vasquez ’ s question , what does this mean , Pratt said , “ It ’ s joy .
What he reminded us of in that video—and what he reminded me every time I would see him—is there ’ s a lot of joy in nature , in things right in front of us that we take for granted.
” She continued , “ I know that that video started out being famous for parody , but I don ’ t think it ended up that way .
I @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
There was something so beautiful and profound in what he was seeing that most of us had forgotten to appreciate .
”

Paul L. Vasquez was known for his viral video of a double rainbow. Photograph by Milena Arango
When I needed it most, about a month ago, I remembered a YouTube video, in which a pair of rainbows arc over Northern California’s Yosemite Valley. In the description below the video, Paul L. Vasquez, who was known to his friends as Bear, wrote, “It was rainbowing for at least an hour on January 8th 2010. It was incredible. The camera could not capture the vivid intensity and brightness.” A sober note was composed in tranquillity, as such things are. I pressed Play for the twenty-eighth or so time. The video, which has nearly forty-eight million views on YouTube, begins with casual narration from Vasquez (“Whoa, that’s a full rainbow”), which quickly turns ecstatic: “All the way! Double rainbow! Oh, my God—it’s a double rainbow all the way! Whoa, that’s so intense! Whoa, man. . . . Wow! Wow! Whoa! Whoa! Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Whoa!”
This goes on for more than three minutes: Vasquez making sounds of astonishment coupled with laughter, then tears, then a pure and plaintive melding of the two, and a question, “What does this mean?”
On Sunday, the Modesto Bee reported that Vasquez had died, the previous day, in Mariposa, California. He was fifty-seven and is survived by two adult children. Born in East Los Angeles, he’d worked as a firefighter as a young man. He once fought in a cage—“he made some money, but he didn’t like it, because he was not a macho guy,” Beth Glover, a close friend of Vasquez’s, told me. (He lost this lone fight.) In Yosemite Valley, in the late eighties and nineties, Vasquez, who eventually grew a long gray beard that hung below long black curls and over a barrel chest, was a security officer and an E.M.T. More recently, he worked odd jobs while farming and filming the twenty acres where he lived alone in a mobile home, ten miles outside Yosemite National Park.
In 1988, as a twenty-five-year-old newcomer to the valley, Vasquez “hacked” that home “out of the wilderness,” as he put it in another video. He called it Yosemite Bear Farm. He grew plums, peaches, and mulberries on the property, which his cattle dogs roamed freely. “He even had a blood-orange tree,” Glover told me. “It somehow survived, despite the snow.” There, he watched appreciatively as the seasons changed. It was a beautiful but not an easy life. Last winter, a tree fell on his home, and it was impossible to keep it warm until spring. “I think that contributed to his decline,” Glover said.
Glover is a nurse and got to know Vasquez after he’d become famous on the Internet. “He felt blessed by it,” she said, of his fame. “He’d laugh—‘this is so cool and strange.’ ” Vasquez went on Kimmel, James Corden, and Tosh.0. He was invited to Iceland and Florida and New York. He did a video for Delta Air Lines. “They got all the YouTube stars on the plane like they were passengers,” Glover recalled. Vasquez also met Jennifer Aniston, which, Glover said, “made him really happy.” At some point, Vasquez hatched a plan to grow his own “Double Rainbow Weed,” noting, in another video, “There is a pot of gold at the end of this rainbow.” It never went anywhere, but he apparently didn’t care. “He didn’t change,” Beth Pratt, a longtime friend and the executive director of the California division of the National Wildlife Federation, told me. She’d known Vasquez for twenty years. “He stayed that positive, happy, joyful soul,” she said. “He appreciated life and all the twists and turns it took.”
Over the past decade, many have speculated, or simply assumed, that Vasquez was stoned when he filmed the double rainbow. A cynical thought, born of narrow, urban minds, and one that I myself had ten years ago, when my brother sent the video to me. (This same brother went on to work three seasons in Yosemite, where he saw a “moonbow,” a kind of nocturnal rainbow caused by bright moonlight refracted, in his case, through a waterfall’s mist.) Vasquez enjoyed cannabis but said that he had not been high. “That’s just how he was in life,” Pratt told me. “A happy, happy person whose language was laughter. He was never without a smile. He always had that kid’s glint of excitement in his eye.” She added, “He didn’t hold it against people who thought he was just goofy.”
Glover told me about sitting outside Vasquez’s mobile home with him and listening to his wind chimes, whose music can be heard in the video. He gained weight in his later years, but he was a devoted rock-climber and gardener, and he “swam with a beautiful stroke,” Glover told me. He once travelled to L.A. to help Pratt put on a wildlife festival. “I remember thanking him for doing that,” Pratt recalled, “and he said, ‘That’s what I love to do, help people share happiness.’ Something like that, anyway. He always wanted you to share in his happiness.” He spent a great deal of time trying to help the Miwok people, who lived in the area for centuries, and whose traditions were under threat. “He wasn’t perfect,” Glover told me, “but he was very good.”
Early this year, Vasquez became sick. By late February, he was experiencing increasing respiratory distress and a fever, which sounded to Glover like pneumonia. (He’d had respiratory issues for a long time, she told me.) He thought maybe he’d had a heart attack, which he announced to his Facebook friends in a video posted a week before he died. “You could hear him wheezing in it,” Glover said. On May 3rd, Vasquez wrote on Facebook, “Whatever happens I’m ready for it, I’m happy to experience it all, it might only be pollen and I’ll have more time in my apartment, if it’s the virus and it’s my time to recycle I look forward to coming back to a new body and starting over, whatever happens I’m enjoying the ride.” Vasquez was tested for the coronavirus on May 5th. “I’ll get my results in two days,” he wrote on Facebook, “however at this point I’m fairly certain that I don’t have it.” He died four days later. The county coroner’s office did not disclose the cause of death. “He never said what it was to me,” Glover said. She added, “He never wanted to be on life support, I know that.” The morning before he died, Vasquez texted Glover that he was feeling better. “Maybe he was sheltering us, so we wouldn’t worry,” she said. “The next thing I heard, he was gone.”
Pratt rewatched the double-rainbow video after learning of Vasquez’s death. “It gave me a sense almost like it was all gonna be O.K.,” she said. She added, “Someone that profoundly connected to the mysteries of the universe—he’s gonna be O.K. He’s probably seeing a lot of rainbows now.” As for the answer to Vasquez’s question, what does this mean, Pratt said, “It’s joy. What he reminded us of in that video—and what he reminded me every time I would see him—is there’s a lot of joy in nature, in things right in front of us that we take for granted.” She continued, “I know that that video started out being famous for parody, but I don’t think it ended up that way. I think most people really got that meaning. There was something so beautiful and profound in what he was seeing that most of us had forgotten to appreciate.”


newyorker--2020-05-13--Amid the Coronavirus Crisis, a Regimen for Reëntry

In places around the world , lockdowns are lifting to various degrees—often prematurely .
Experts have identified a few indicators that must be met to begin opening nonessential businesses safely : rates of new cases should be low and falling for at least two weeks ; hospitals should be able to treat all coronavirus patients in need ; and there should be a capacity to test everyone with symptoms .
But then what ?
What are the rules for reëntry ?
Is there any place that has figured out a way to open and have employees work safely , with @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Well , yes : in health care .
The Boston area has been a COVID-19 hotspot .
Yet the staff members of my hospital system here , Mass General Brigham , have been at work throughout the pandemic .
We have seventy-five thousand employees—more people than in seventy-five per cent of U.S. counties .
In April , two-thirds of us were working on site .
Yet we ’ ve had few workplace transmissions .
Not zero : we ’ ve been on a learning curve , to be sure , and we have @ @ @ @ @ @ @ from getting infected in the community .
But , in the face of enormous risks , American hospitals have learned how to avoid becoming sites of spread .
When the time is right to lighten up on the lockdown and bring people back to work , there are wider lessons to be learned from places that never locked down in the first place .
These lessons point toward an approach that we might think of as a combination therapy—like a drug cocktail .
Its elements are all familiar : hygiene measures , screening @ @ @ @ @ @ @ has flaws .
Skip one , and the treatment won ’ t work .
But , when taken together , and taken seriously , they shut down the virus .
We need to understand these elements properly—what their strengths and limitations are—if we ’ re going to make them work outside health care .
Start with hygiene .
People have learned that cleaning your hands is essential to stopping the transfer of infectious droplets from surfaces to your nose , mouth , and eyes .
But frequency makes a bigger difference than many @ @ @ @ @ @ @ military boot camp found that a top-down program of hand washing five times a day cut medical visits for respiratory infections by forty-five per cent .
Research on the 2002 SARS coronavirus outbreak found that washing hands more than ten times a day reduced people ’ s infection rate by even more .
Disinfecting surfaces helps , too , and frequency probably matters , although I haven ’ t found good research on this .
The key , it seems , is washing or sanitizing your hands every time you go into and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ every couple of hours while you ’ re in it , plus disinfecting high-touch surfaces at least daily .
That is not enough , however , because environmental transmission may account for as little as six per cent of COVID-19 infections .
SARS-CoV-2 , the virus that causes COVID-19 , spreads primarily through respiratory droplets emitted by infected people when they cough , sneeze , talk , or simply exhale ; the droplets are then breathed in by others .
( Loud talking has even been shown to generate measurably more droplets than @ @ @ @ @ @ @ physical distancing is so important .
We have all now learned the six-foot rule for preventing transmission of contagion-containing droplets .
In my hospital system , observers gently remind us to stand the prescribed distance apart on escalators and in the elevator line ; we allow no more than four people on elevators that used to carry more than twenty ( a nightmare at shift changes ) .
We ’ ve turned as many internal meetings , patient visits , and team huddles as possible into video meetings , even if someone is @ @ @ @ @ @ @ can ’ t avoid face-to-face encounters , we ’ ve put up Plexiglas barriers and spaced our chairs and work stations farther apart .
The six-foot rule isn ’ t some kind of infectious-disease law , however .
There ’ s no stop sign at six feet that respiratory droplets obey .
Public-health guidelines , in fact , originally set the at-risk distance at three feet or less , based on theoretical models going back to the nineteen-thirties , simulation studies , and experience in previous outbreaks , such as a 1981 outbreak @ @ @ @ @ @ @ classroom .
That outbreak began in a cluster of five girls seated together on one side of the room .
One infected the other four .
Investigators later took measurements : the distance from one girl ’ s seat to another was about two and a half feet .
Close contact at lunchtime spread the Meningococcus bacteria to other children , who transmitted the disease in their classrooms .
In all , thirty-one children became ill or were carriers , and the spread was mainly in two classrooms where the chair-to-chair distance was @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , it was already apparent that respiratory illnesses frequently travel farther .
Past guidelines from the C.D.C .
also cited a 1948 military study in which almost fifty young men with confirmed Streptococcus infection—strep throat—were asked to cough , sneeze ( with the help of a sneezing powder ) , and talk .
Petri dishes and air samplers were placed at various distances to capture bacteria .
All three activities dispersed contagion .
Sneezing was the worst .
In the most common pattern , bacteria grew only on petri dishes placed on the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the sneezer .
In ten per cent of cases , bacteria were captured only by the air samplers .
In twenty per cent , no streptococci were recovered anywhere .
But one recruit spewed large quantities of bacteria into petri dishes and air samplers almost ten feet away .
“ This subject , ” the report noted , “ was really an unusually good atomizer.
” They ’ d caught him at a time of particular infectivity .
A few days later , he wasn ’ t nearly as infectious anymore .
It @ @ @ @ @ @ @ under the right conditions of temperature , humidity , and air circulation , forceful coughing or sneezing can propel a cloudburst of respiratory droplets more than twenty feet .
Yet it wasn ’ t until the SARS epidemic in 2002 , after several cases documenting more distant spread , that authorities doubled the at-risk distance from three to six feet .
In one case , a man with SARS on a three-hour flight from Hong Kong to Beijing infected twenty-two people , five of whom died .
The twenty-three passengers in the same @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of the index patient bore the highest risk : eight fell ill .
So did the flight attendant for the patient ’ s section .
Extending the recommended distance made sense .
But six feet was simply a choice guided by practicality .
People seven rows away—around eighteen feet—developed SARS , too .

In places around the world, lockdowns are lifting to various degrees—often prematurely. Experts have identified a few indicators that must be met to begin opening nonessential businesses safely: rates of new cases should be low and falling for at least two weeks; hospitals should be able to treat all coronavirus patients in need; and there should be a capacity to test everyone with symptoms. But then what? What are the rules for reëntry? Is there any place that has figured out a way to open and have employees work safely, with one another and with their customers?
Well, yes: in health care. The Boston area has been a COVID-19 hotspot. Yet the staff members of my hospital system here, Mass General Brigham, have been at work throughout the pandemic. We have seventy-five thousand employees—more people than in seventy-five per cent of U.S. counties. In April, two-thirds of us were working on site. Yet we’ve had few workplace transmissions. Not zero: we’ve been on a learning curve, to be sure, and we have no way to stop our health-care workers from getting infected in the community. But, in the face of enormous risks, American hospitals have learned how to avoid becoming sites of spread. When the time is right to lighten up on the lockdown and bring people back to work, there are wider lessons to be learned from places that never locked down in the first place.
These lessons point toward an approach that we might think of as a combination therapy—like a drug cocktail. Its elements are all familiar: hygiene measures, screening, distancing, and masks. Each has flaws. Skip one, and the treatment won’t work. But, when taken together, and taken seriously, they shut down the virus. We need to understand these elements properly—what their strengths and limitations are—if we’re going to make them work outside health care.
Start with hygiene. People have learned that cleaning your hands is essential to stopping the transfer of infectious droplets from surfaces to your nose, mouth, and eyes. But frequency makes a bigger difference than many realize. A study conducted at a military boot camp found that a top-down program of hand washing five times a day cut medical visits for respiratory infections by forty-five per cent. Research on the 2002 SARS coronavirus outbreak found that washing hands more than ten times a day reduced people’s infection rate by even more. Disinfecting surfaces helps, too, and frequency probably matters, although I haven’t found good research on this. The key, it seems, is washing or sanitizing your hands every time you go into and out of a group environment, and every couple of hours while you’re in it, plus disinfecting high-touch surfaces at least daily.
That is not enough, however, because environmental transmission may account for as little as six per cent of COVID-19 infections. SARS-CoV-2, the virus that causes COVID-19, spreads primarily through respiratory droplets emitted by infected people when they cough, sneeze, talk, or simply exhale; the droplets are then breathed in by others. (Loud talking has even been shown to generate measurably more droplets than quieter talking.) This is why physical distancing is so important. We have all now learned the six-foot rule for preventing transmission of contagion-containing droplets. In my hospital system, observers gently remind us to stand the prescribed distance apart on escalators and in the elevator line; we allow no more than four people on elevators that used to carry more than twenty (a nightmare at shift changes). We’ve turned as many internal meetings, patient visits, and team huddles as possible into video meetings, even if someone is right across the hall. When we can’t avoid face-to-face encounters, we’ve put up Plexiglas barriers and spaced our chairs and work stations farther apart.
The six-foot rule isn’t some kind of infectious-disease law, however. There’s no stop sign at six feet that respiratory droplets obey. Public-health guidelines, in fact, originally set the at-risk distance at three feet or less, based on theoretical models going back to the nineteen-thirties, simulation studies, and experience in previous outbreaks, such as a 1981 outbreak of infectious meningitis in a Texas elementary-school classroom. That outbreak began in a cluster of five girls seated together on one side of the room. One infected the other four. Investigators later took measurements: the distance from one girl’s seat to another was about two and a half feet. Close contact at lunchtime spread the Meningococcus bacteria to other children, who transmitted the disease in their classrooms. In all, thirty-one children became ill or were carriers, and the spread was mainly in two classrooms where the chair-to-chair distance was three feet or less.
Even then, it was already apparent that respiratory illnesses frequently travel farther. Past guidelines from the C.D.C. also cited a 1948 military study in which almost fifty young men with confirmed Streptococcus infection—strep throat—were asked to cough, sneeze (with the help of a sneezing powder), and talk. Petri dishes and air samplers were placed at various distances to capture bacteria. All three activities dispersed contagion. Sneezing was the worst.
A study conducted at a naval base in the nineteen-forties found that germs were most commonly collected within a foot and a half of the sneezing subject, but in some cases they could travel much farther.
In the most common pattern, bacteria grew only on petri dishes placed on the floor a foot and a half from the sneezer. In ten per cent of cases, bacteria were captured only by the air samplers. In twenty per cent, no streptococci were recovered anywhere. But one recruit spewed large quantities of bacteria into petri dishes and air samplers almost ten feet away. “This subject,” the report noted, “was really an unusually good atomizer.” They’d caught him at a time of particular infectivity. A few days later, he wasn’t nearly as infectious anymore.
It has now become well recognized that, under the right conditions of temperature, humidity, and air circulation, forceful coughing or sneezing can propel a cloudburst of respiratory droplets more than twenty feet. Yet it wasn’t until the SARS epidemic in 2002, after several cases documenting more distant spread, that authorities doubled the at-risk distance from three to six feet. In one case, a man with SARS on a three-hour flight from Hong Kong to Beijing infected twenty-two people, five of whom died. The twenty-three passengers in the same row or the three rows in front of the index patient bore the highest risk: eight fell ill. So did the flight attendant for the patient’s section. Extending the recommended distance made sense. But six feet was simply a choice guided by practicality. People seven rows away—around eighteen feet—developed SARS, too.
We’ve seen similar events in the current pandemic. Take, for instance, the now infamous Skagit Valley Chorale practice, on March 10th, at a church in Washington State. It was pre-lockdown, but there’d been enough coronavirus news to lead the group to suspend the usual hugs and handshakes and to sit farther apart than usual. According to choir members who were present, no one seemed ill at the start of the rehearsal. No one coughed. The singing was as powerful as ever. And that may have been the problem. There was an index patient who had been experiencing cold-like symptoms for three days, which worsened after the rehearsal and led to a diagnosis of COVID-19. According to an investigation by the Skagit County Public Health department, fifty-two of the sixty other choir members in attendance subsequently fell ill. Thirty-two choir members tested positive for COVID-19. Two died.
COVID-19 isn’t actually crazy infectious. Measles is crazy infectious: for instance, in a 2008 outbreak in San Diego that began in a school where thirty per cent of students were unvaccinated, each infected child spread the virus to, on average, eighteen others—meaning that the disease has a “reproductive ratio,” or R0, of eighteen. By comparison, a person with COVID-19 will infect, on average, only two to three others out of all the people he or she encounters while going about ordinary life. Exposure time matters: we don’t know exactly how long is too long, but less than fifteen minutes spent in the company of an infected person makes spread unlikely. (For instance, among four hundred and forty-five people who were within six feet of a COVID-19 case for ten minutes or more, only two tested positive, both of whom had confirmed cases in their households.) But an R0 of two or three is more than enough to cause a pandemic. Given an average incubation period of five days, a single unchecked case can lead, over two months, to more than twenty thousand infections and a hundred deaths. The six-foot rule goes a long way toward shutting down this risk. But there are clearly circumstances where that is not sufficient. At the right point in the illness, under the right environmental and social conditions, one person can produce a disaster. In ninety minutes of choir practice, in a crowded church on a March day, with a woman at the height of infectivity, the R0 was in the dozens.