newyorker--2020-04-03--Adam Schlesinger’s Incandescent Songwriting Talent

Adam Schlesinger , who died on Wednesday , at fifty-two , of complications from COVID-19 , had an unusual public profile .
He was a successful musician—very successful , by any reasonable measure .
He played in acclaimed bands ; he composed songs and scores for movies and Broadway and television shows .
He won a Grammy and three Emmys , and was nominated for an Oscar and a couple of Tonys .
But Schlesinger was not a star .
You couldn ’ t really even call him famous .
In part , this was a factor of history .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ groups , Ivy and Fountains of Wayne , which earned major label deals and boutique stardom , then faded as the cultural center of gravity shifted from rock to hip-hop .
Schlesinger ’ s career had an old-fashioned flavor .
He was a craftsman in the Brill Building and Tin Pan Alley mold : a record producer , multi-instrumentalist , and , supremely , a songwriter , who thrived behind the scenes .
He was never the lead singer of any band .
Onstage , he cut a diffident figure , playing the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ now and then to sing harmony vocals .
Schlesinger ’ s death will undoubtedly bring him greater renown than he knew in life .
With the terrible instant clarity that tragedy confers , it ’ s now easy to recognize him for what he was : a modest man of immodestly lavish talent .
He was one of the great songwriters of his generation , with a body of work that stands next to those of far bigger boldface names .
Those gifts grabbed the ears of fans and critics on Fountains of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , in the mid-nineties , by Schlesinger and another songwriter , his college classmate Chris Collingwood , the group snuck in under the banner of “ alternative rock , ” which boomed following the triumph of Nirvana ’ s “ Nevermind.
” But , on Fountains of Wayne ’ s self-titled début , from 1996 , the band displayed little connection to mainstream American alt-rock , with its grunge aesthetics and mawkish blend of angst and aggro .
The music was power-pop : Beatles chords , Beach Boys harmonies , the blaring guitars @ @ @ @ @ @ @ like the Raspberries and Cheap Trick .
Songs like “ I ’ ve Got a Flair ” and “ Sick Day ” established Schlesinger and Collingwood , the band ’ s singer , as classicists with a sure command of song form , expertly honoring and tweaking tradition .
That formal mastery would eventually inspire an admiring sendup by the Chicago songwriter Robbie Fulks , “ Fountains of Wayne Hotline ” ( 2005 ) , in which a Midwestern country singer seeks advice on how to punch up his tunes , Fountains of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ piece of rock criticism , and the finest tribute to Schlesinger ’ s ninja skills you ’ re likely to encounter .
What really set the band apart was its lyrics .
Collingwood wrote his share of songs , but Schlesinger wrote more , and he wrote the best ones .
He was a storyteller and a joke teller ; often as not , his punch lines turned into insights , and vice versa .
The sensibility , and the subject matter , came into focus on the albums “ Utopia Parkway , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Interstate Managers , ” from 2003 .
There were vivid character sketches ( “ Well , I ’ ve been saving for a custom van / And I ’ ve been playing in a cover band ” ) and surreal social satire ( “ He was killed by a cellular-phone explosion / They scattered his ashes across the ocean / The water was used to make baby lotion / The wheels of promotion were set into motion ” ) .
The songs are unmistakably Generation X artifacts , full of pop-culture references , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , and a pervasive sense of middle-class downward mobility—the mark of a songwriter who came of age in the “ slacker ” recession of the early nineties .
Over the years , Schlesinger ’ s dramatic personae grew to encompass a motley cross-section of humanity : elderly men kibbitzing over bagels in a diner ; an imperious desk attendant at the D.M.V .
; a lonely commuter looking for love on the Boston-bound Acela ; a middle-aged woman who does mushrooms while vacationing at her parents ’ country house ; hapless hipster-entrepreneurs who @ @ @ @ @ @ @ boutique they called Debris/Together with some kid from F.I.T.
” ; and , of course , the teen-age boy who lusts after his friend ’ s mother in “ Stacy ’ s Mom , ” which was Fountains of Wayne ’ s one hit , reaching No .
21 on the Billboard Hot 100 in the autumn of 2003 .
Schlesinger ’ s cheekiness and light touch , and the boundless catchiness of his tunes , has caused some listeners to overlook his greatness as a social chronicler .
He was a commemorator @ @ @ @ @ @ @ souvenirs for sale at gas-station convenience stores , the on-air banter of local news anchors—the particulars of unglamorous everyday life .
He wrote about kids getting stoned at a planetarium laser show ; he wrote about a couple marooned in an airport , searching for luggage that failed to show up at baggage claim .
Some songwriters compose odes to hot rods and luxury coupes ; Schlesinger ’ s car song is about a Subaru jalopy : “ I bought a car off a couple of ladies way upstate / Took off the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” If future investigators want to understand the aspirations and setbacks of a certain kind of early-twenty-first century middle-class American white person , the Schlesinger songbook will be a benchmark text .
What they ’ ll find there , alongside the jokes and details , is deep human sympathy .
Consider “ Hey Julie , ” from 2003 , a love song set against the soul-numbing backdrop of a lousy office job : These songs have a pronounced regional accent : they are anthems of the New York City outer boroughs and suburbs @ @ @ @ @ @ @ songbook of Billy Joel , whom Schlesinger admired .
( Joel ’ s far more dyspeptic and bombastic music may reflect a class difference : he grew up lower middle class in Hicksville , on Long Island ; Schlesinger was raised in tonier Montclair , New Jersey , and attended Williams College . )
But Schlesinger also wrote urbane songs .
If Fountains of Wayne was a bridge-and-tunnel band , Ivy was Manhattan—and , in a way , Paris .
The group formed in 1994 , when Schlesinger and his friend Andy Chase @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Chase later married .
The trio recorded six studio albums , including one masterpiece , “ Apartment Life , ” in 1997 , a beautiful record that takes in Europop , Brill Building ballads , lounge , bossa nova , and other cosmopolitan styles .
The songs , sung by Durand in a vibratoless croon , showcase Schlesinger ’ s concision and depth—they ’ re vignettes about the dreams and disappointments of city dwellers , sketched in short , swift strokes .
The tonal difference between the Fountains of Wayne and Ivy material @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , ” the stage sets are sparsely appointed , and the lyrics are clipped and ruminative : “ You put your book down / And stare into space / You turn all the lights down / So I won ’ t see your face.
” The chiming “ I ’ ve Got a Feeling ” may be Schlesinger ’ s greatest ballad : a bone-simple marriage of words and music that sounds inevitable , like a song that has always existed .

Adam Schlesinger’s death underscores the horror of the coronavirus pandemic and the failures of leadership that have brought it about. Photograph by Kevin Winter / NBCUniversal / Getty
Adam Schlesinger, who died on Wednesday, at fifty-two, of complications from COVID-19, had an unusual public profile. He was a successful musician—very successful, by any reasonable measure. He played in acclaimed bands; he composed songs and scores for movies and Broadway and television shows. He won a Grammy and three Emmys, and was nominated for an Oscar and a couple of Tonys.
But Schlesinger was not a star. You couldn’t really even call him famous. In part, this was a factor of history. He was a co-founder of two pop-rock groups, Ivy and Fountains of Wayne, which earned major label deals and boutique stardom, then faded as the cultural center of gravity shifted from rock to hip-hop. Schlesinger’s career had an old-fashioned flavor. He was a craftsman in the Brill Building and Tin Pan Alley mold: a record producer, multi-instrumentalist, and, supremely, a songwriter, who thrived behind the scenes. He was never the lead singer of any band. Onstage, he cut a diffident figure, playing the bass and stepping to the microphone every now and then to sing harmony vocals.
Schlesinger’s death will undoubtedly bring him greater renown than he knew in life. With the terrible instant clarity that tragedy confers, it’s now easy to recognize him for what he was: a modest man of immodestly lavish talent. He was one of the great songwriters of his generation, with a body of work that stands next to those of far bigger boldface names.
Those gifts grabbed the ears of fans and critics on Fountains of Wayne records. Formed in New York, in the mid-nineties, by Schlesinger and another songwriter, his college classmate Chris Collingwood, the group snuck in under the banner of “alternative rock,” which boomed following the triumph of Nirvana’s “Nevermind.” But, on Fountains of Wayne’s self-titled début, from 1996, the band displayed little connection to mainstream American alt-rock, with its grunge aesthetics and mawkish blend of angst and aggro. The music was power-pop: Beatles chords, Beach Boys harmonies, the blaring guitars and catchy choruses of seventies AM-radio staples like the Raspberries and Cheap Trick. Songs like “I’ve Got a Flair” and “Sick Day” established Schlesinger and Collingwood, the band’s singer, as classicists with a sure command of song form, expertly honoring and tweaking tradition. That formal mastery would eventually inspire an admiring sendup by the Chicago songwriter Robbie Fulks, “Fountains of Wayne Hotline” (2005), in which a Midwestern country singer seeks advice on how to punch up his tunes, Fountains of Wayne style. It is a great piece of rock criticism, and the finest tribute to Schlesinger’s ninja skills you’re likely to encounter.
What really set the band apart was its lyrics. Collingwood wrote his share of songs, but Schlesinger wrote more, and he wrote the best ones. He was a storyteller and a joke teller; often as not, his punch lines turned into insights, and vice versa. The sensibility, and the subject matter, came into focus on the albums “Utopia Parkway,” from 1999, and “Welcome Interstate Managers,” from 2003. There were vivid character sketches (“Well, I’ve been saving for a custom van / And I’ve been playing in a cover band”) and surreal social satire (“He was killed by a cellular-phone explosion / They scattered his ashes across the ocean / The water was used to make baby lotion / The wheels of promotion were set into motion”). The songs are unmistakably Generation X artifacts, full of pop-culture references, memories of high-school dances and drinking binges, and a pervasive sense of middle-class downward mobility—the mark of a songwriter who came of age in the “slacker” recession of the early nineties.
Over the years, Schlesinger’s dramatic personae grew to encompass a motley cross-section of humanity: elderly men kibbitzing over bagels in a diner; an imperious desk attendant at the D.M.V.; a lonely commuter looking for love on the Boston-bound Acela; a middle-aged woman who does mushrooms while vacationing at her parents’ country house; hapless hipster-entrepreneurs who go belly up after opening “a boutique they called Debris/Together with some kid from F.I.T.”; and, of course, the teen-age boy who lusts after his friend’s mother in “Stacy’s Mom,” which was Fountains of Wayne’s one hit, reaching No. 21 on the Billboard Hot 100 in the autumn of 2003.
Schlesinger’s cheekiness and light touch, and the boundless catchiness of his tunes, has caused some listeners to overlook his greatness as a social chronicler. He was a commemorator of suburban teen folkways, the junky souvenirs for sale at gas-station convenience stores, the on-air banter of local news anchors—the particulars of unglamorous everyday life. He wrote about kids getting stoned at a planetarium laser show; he wrote about a couple marooned in an airport, searching for luggage that failed to show up at baggage claim. Some songwriters compose odes to hot rods and luxury coupes; Schlesinger’s car song is about a Subaru jalopy: “I bought a car off a couple of ladies way upstate / Took off the Greenpeace sticker and the New Hampshire plates.” If future investigators want to understand the aspirations and setbacks of a certain kind of early-twenty-first century middle-class American white person, the Schlesinger songbook will be a benchmark text. What they’ll find there, alongside the jokes and details, is deep human sympathy. Consider “Hey Julie,” from 2003, a love song set against the soul-numbing backdrop of a lousy office job:
Working all day for a mean little man
With a clip-on tie and a rub-on tan
He’s got me running ’round the office
Like a dog around a track
But when I get back home you’re always there to rub my back Hey, Julie, look what they’re doing to me
Trying to trip me up
Trying to wear me down
Julie, I swear it’s
So hard to bear it
And I’d never make it through without you around
These songs have a pronounced regional accent: they are anthems of the New York City outer boroughs and suburbs. There is a connection to the songbook of Billy Joel, whom Schlesinger admired. (Joel’s far more dyspeptic and bombastic music may reflect a class difference: he grew up lower middle class in Hicksville, on Long Island; Schlesinger was raised in tonier Montclair, New Jersey, and attended Williams College.) But Schlesinger also wrote urbane songs. If Fountains of Wayne was a bridge-and-tunnel band, Ivy was Manhattan—and, in a way, Paris. The group formed in 1994, when Schlesinger and his friend Andy Chase met Dominique Durand, a Frenchwoman whom Chase later married. The trio recorded six studio albums, including one masterpiece, “Apartment Life,” in 1997, a beautiful record that takes in Europop, Brill Building ballads, lounge, bossa nova, and other cosmopolitan styles.
The songs, sung by Durand in a vibratoless croon, showcase Schlesinger’s concision and depth—they’re vignettes about the dreams and disappointments of city dwellers, sketched in short, swift strokes. The tonal difference between the Fountains of Wayne and Ivy material is striking. On “Apartment Life,” the stage sets are sparsely appointed, and the lyrics are clipped and ruminative: “You put your book down / And stare into space / You turn all the lights down / So I won’t see your face.” The chiming “I’ve Got a Feeling” may be Schlesinger’s greatest ballad: a bone-simple marriage of words and music that sounds inevitable, like a song that has always existed.


newyorker--2020-04-03--The Coronavirus Meets Authoritarianism in Turkey

In a public address on Monday night , the Turkish President , Recep Tayyip Erdoğan , stated , “ Turkey is a country where production must continue and the cogs must keep turning under every circumstance and every condition.
” Turkey , where more than two hundred people have died from the new coronavirus , has one of the world ’ s fastest-growing outbreaks , but Erdoğan has resisted urgent action , calling only for a “ voluntary quarantine ” for most of the country .
Opposition politicians have called for harsher measures against the coronavirus , including the types @ @ @ @ @ @ @ around the world , but they have been increasingly besieged and marginalized in recent years , as Erdoğan has extended his power and thrown his rivals in prison .
Last week , Turkey arrested hundreds of people for “ provocative ” posts about the outbreak on social media .
Medical professionals who have urged harsher measures have issued apologies after being arrested .
I recently spoke by phone with Emrah Altindis , a professor of biology at Boston College who has been studying the epidemic in Turkey , where he is from .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ of the book “ Authoritarianism and Resistance in Turkey : Conversations on Democratic and Social Challenges.
” During our conversation , which has been edited for length and clarity , we discussed how Erdoğan ’ s privatization of the medical system affected coronavirus preparation , how the Syrian refugee crisis has changed Turkish society , and the dangers of an outbreak in Turkey ’ s prisons .
Can you give us your overview of the coronavirus in Turkey right now ?
Let ’ s start with the numbers .
The first case in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ This was later than in most countries .
And the first death happened on March 17th .
And as of today , March 31st , we have lost two hundred and fourteen people .
And the number of cases that are confirmed is 13,531 .
If you compare these numbers to other countries ’ after they had a hundred cases detected , Turkey has the biggest rate of increase in the number of cases in the world right now .
So it means that it is really very serious .
We have some @ @ @ @ @ @ @ you know , it is very high in Spain and in Italy .
But in Turkey , if these official numbers are true—and some people question them , because there is no transparency—but , if these numbers are true , then the rate is less than in Italy or Spain .
Is there a theory about why the virus spread so quickly in Turkey even though , as you say , the first case was relatively late ?
I think that in the world there are two different ways to contain the pandemic @ @ @ @ @ @ @ One is South Korea , which did mass testing .
And they were able to do twenty thousand tests per day .
As of March 20th , South Korea did more than three hundred and fifty thousand tests .
But in Turkey the number of tests that we have today is just ninety-two thousand , and the population of Turkey is eighty million .
This is one of the reasons .
The other model that ’ s worked is in Wuhan , in China , and , right now , in California and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ which entails stopping non-essential business .
But Turkey hasn ’ t stopped .
They closed restaurants and schools , but working-class people have to go to work every day .
[ More than forty small villages and towns in Turkey are under quarantine , but , as of Thursday , that was not true of any cities , including Istanbul , which has had the greatest number of COVID-19 cases . ]
These people are carrying the virus to the people who are in the high-risk groups , and , as working-class people @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , they will bring the virus back home to their parents , grandparents , and people with chronic diseases such as diabetes , hypertension , chronic lung disease , or kidney disease .
And so we will not be able to stop this transmission .
One more thing : as of today , we have more than thirteen thousand cases , but this is really the tip of the iceberg , because these thirteen thousand people were largely infected two , three weeks ago .
The incubation time for the virus to show @ @ @ @ @ @ @ showed the symptoms , and then they went to hospital , but , meanwhile , this virus transmission continued , and these people infected many , many more people .
It will be worse in the next two weeks .
Do you have a sense of why the Erdoğan government did neither mass testing nor universal shelter-in-place measures , and why the President seems to be more interested in talking about the economy than serious social-distancing and shelter-in-place measures ?
Yeah , there are two different theories .
The first one is that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ not manage a lockdown .
This is one theory—that they are not able to do it .
The other theory is about herd immunity .
They already told people over sixty-five or with chronic diseases that they are at risk .
And they have never talked about this , but there could be a hidden herd-immunity agenda there .
This is a one-man regime right now .
He decides .
On February 24th , the Turkish Minister of Health , Fahrettin Koca , who is a medical doctor , gave an interview to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Turkey , Ahmet Hakan , and he said that Wuhan and Italy did a great job by locking down .
And he said that , when there was a case in Qom , in Iran , he called the health minister of Iran , and he said it ’ s time to have a lockdown , but then Iran admitted to him that they didn ’ t lock down the city , and that ’ s why it spread .
So he is aware of the fact that locking down the streets is @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Unfortunately , one man decides , and , somehow , they can not convince him to lock down the cities .
Today , Ekrem Imamoğlu , the mayor of Istanbul , which is a huge city ; the population of Istanbul is sixteen million— He is an opposition politician , yes ?
Yes , so , in Turkey , we have today three great cities : Ankara , the capital ; Izmir ; and Istanbul .
And these three cities all have mayors from the opposition .
And one-third of the population of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
But we don ’ t have a system like you have in the United States .
So , right now , the California governor can decide to lock down the whole state .
But in Turkey this is not the case , and the Istanbul mayor was trying .
He understood that we needed to lock down the city to be able to control the infection .
And there is another problem .
The Health Minister said several days ago , when then the number of the cases was just six thousand @ @ @ @ @ @ @ intensive-care units are full .
Right now we have more than thirteen thousand cases , and he says that we are just about to fill all our capacity , and the surge is coming .
There were a lot of sectors of Turkey , including journalism , academia , and politics , which were hollowed out , and in which people were sent to jail , after the failed coup attempt against Erdoğan .
How much was this the case in the scientific and medical fields ?

In a public address on Monday night, the Turkish President, Recep Tayyip Erdoğan, stated, “Turkey is a country where production must continue and the cogs must keep turning under every circumstance and every condition.” Turkey, where more than two hundred people have died from the new coronavirus, has one of the world’s fastest-growing outbreaks, but Erdoğan has resisted urgent action, calling only for a “voluntary quarantine” for most of the country. Opposition politicians have called for harsher measures against the coronavirus, including the types of lockdowns that have gone into effect around the world, but they have been increasingly besieged and marginalized in recent years, as Erdoğan has extended his power and thrown his rivals in prison. Last week, Turkey arrested hundreds of people for “provocative” posts about the outbreak on social media. Medical professionals who have urged harsher measures have issued apologies after being arrested.
I recently spoke by phone with Emrah Altindis, a professor of biology at Boston College who has been studying the epidemic in Turkey, where he is from. He is also one of the editors of the book “Authoritarianism and Resistance in Turkey: Conversations on Democratic and Social Challenges.” During our conversation, which has been edited for length and clarity, we discussed how Erdoğan’s privatization of the medical system affected coronavirus preparation, how the Syrian refugee crisis has changed Turkish society, and the dangers of an outbreak in Turkey’s prisons.
Can you give us your overview of the coronavirus in Turkey right now?
Let’s start with the numbers. The first case in Turkey was detected on March 11th. This was later than in most countries. And the first death happened on March 17th. And as of today, March 31st, we have lost two hundred and fourteen people. And the number of cases that are confirmed is 13,531. If you compare these numbers to other countries’ after they had a hundred cases detected, Turkey has the biggest rate of increase in the number of cases in the world right now. So it means that it is really very serious.
We have some hope with the mortality rate. As you know, it is very high in Spain and in Italy. But in Turkey, if these official numbers are true—and some people question them, because there is no transparency—but, if these numbers are true, then the rate is less than in Italy or Spain.
Is there a theory about why the virus spread so quickly in Turkey even though, as you say, the first case was relatively late?
I think that in the world there are two different ways to contain the pandemic right now. Two successful models. One is South Korea, which did mass testing. And they were able to do twenty thousand tests per day. As of March 20th, South Korea did more than three hundred and fifty thousand tests. But in Turkey the number of tests that we have today is just ninety-two thousand, and the population of Turkey is eighty million. This is one of the reasons.
The other model that’s worked is in Wuhan, in China, and, right now, in California and France, and also in Boston, which entails stopping non-essential business. But Turkey hasn’t stopped. They closed restaurants and schools, but working-class people have to go to work every day. [More than forty small villages and towns in Turkey are under quarantine, but, as of Thursday, that was not true of any cities, including Istanbul, which has had the greatest number of COVID-19 cases.] These people are carrying the virus to the people who are in the high-risk groups, and, as working-class people in Turkey go to work every day, they will bring the virus back home to their parents, grandparents, and people with chronic diseases such as diabetes, hypertension, chronic lung disease, or kidney disease. And so we will not be able to stop this transmission.
One more thing: as of today, we have more than thirteen thousand cases, but this is really the tip of the iceberg, because these thirteen thousand people were largely infected two, three weeks ago. The incubation time for the virus to show symptoms is approximately six days. They showed the symptoms, and then they went to hospital, but, meanwhile, this virus transmission continued, and these people infected many, many more people. It will be worse in the next two weeks.
Do you have a sense of why the Erdoğan government did neither mass testing nor universal shelter-in-place measures, and why the President seems to be more interested in talking about the economy than serious social-distancing and shelter-in-place measures?
Yeah, there are two different theories. The first one is that he says that the Turkish economy cannot manage a lockdown. This is one theory—that they are not able to do it. The other theory is about herd immunity. They already told people over sixty-five or with chronic diseases that they are at risk. And they have never talked about this, but there could be a hidden herd-immunity agenda there. This is a one-man regime right now. He decides.
On February 24th, the Turkish Minister of Health, Fahrettin Koca, who is a medical doctor, gave an interview to one of the most famous journalists in Turkey, Ahmet Hakan, and he said that Wuhan and Italy did a great job by locking down. And he said that, when there was a case in Qom, in Iran, he called the health minister of Iran, and he said it’s time to have a lockdown, but then Iran admitted to him that they didn’t lock down the city, and that’s why it spread. So he is aware of the fact that locking down the streets is a way to stop the infection. Unfortunately, one man decides, and, somehow, they cannot convince him to lock down the cities. Today, Ekrem Imamoğlu, the mayor of Istanbul, which is a huge city; the population of Istanbul is sixteen million—
He is an opposition politician, yes?
Yes, so, in Turkey, we have today three great cities: Ankara, the capital; Izmir; and Istanbul. And these three cities all have mayors from the opposition. And one-third of the population of Turkey lives in these big three cities. But we don’t have a system like you have in the United States. So, right now, the California governor can decide to lock down the whole state. But in Turkey this is not the case, and the Istanbul mayor was trying. He understood that we needed to lock down the city to be able to control the infection.
And there is another problem. The Health Minister said several days ago, when then the number of the cases was just six thousand, that sixty-three per cent of our intensive-care units are full. Right now we have more than thirteen thousand cases, and he says that we are just about to fill all our capacity, and the surge is coming.
There were a lot of sectors of Turkey, including journalism, academia, and politics, which were hollowed out, and in which people were sent to jail, after the failed coup attempt against Erdoğan. How much was this the case in the scientific and medical fields?
So, first of all, we can compare Turkey to the European Union and O.E.C.D. countries. Italy has 2.5 times more medical doctors and nurses per thousand people compared to Turkey. Or, when you compare Turkey with any other O.E.C.D. country, it has fewer medical doctors and nurses per person. After this coup attempt, many people lost their jobs in many sectors. And this also includes many medical doctors and nurses, and many academics, as well. And, in addition to this, for instance, many academics—and I’m one of them—signed a petition in 2016 to ask for peace in the Kurdish question. Several professors in the medical schools also lost their jobs from that. This has an effect also on our response, but there are also structural problems.
There have also been reports that doctors who have spoken out about the threat of the coronavirus in the last few weeks had been arrested and then, in some cases, recanted their statements under pressure. Is that something that you’ve heard about?


newyorker--2020-04-03--“Adrenaline, Duty, and Fear”: Inside a New York Hospital Taking on the Coronavirus

Right now , the most striking feature of the hospital might be the difference between the world outside and the world within .
Outside , New York—America ’ s largest and densest city—is a ghost town .
Manhattan ’ s streets are deserted .
Its car horns are silent .
Its halal carts have vanished .
Inside , the hospital pulses with an energy I ’ ve never experienced before .
The destruction wrought by the novel coronavirus is on full display , but so is the singular purpose with which clinicians of all ranks and backgrounds are responding .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ so quickly .
Medical students are graduating early to help in the fight .
Pathology residents are volunteering on the medical floors .
There is a complete subjugation of ego ; senior physicians are performing tasks that they haven ’ t done since medical school .
Medicine—normally governed by rigid hierarchies and siloed fiefdoms—is free .
Arrive and security greets you with a mask on and a mask , for you , in hand .
The message is unmistakable .
A medical militia is at work .
I don ’ t want to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ buffer zone .
In the morning , I enter through a large atrium that once teemed with activity ; it now has the feeling of an empty train station at midnight .
I walk down a main hallway alone , glancing at plaques and paintings I ’ d never noticed before , and arrive at an idle information desk .
To my left , an Au Bon Pain sits empty .
To my right , rows of tables and chairs rest untouched .
I wait at an elevator bay .
In months past @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to arrive , stopping at each floor during its long descent .
Often , a crowd would have formed , and I ’ d have to wait for the next one .
Now the doors open as soon as my gloved knuckle grazes the button .
Inside , it ’ s just me and a doctor I vaguely recognize .
Months ago , we consulted on a mutual patient .
We nod in acknowledgement—an elbow tap too risky , a fist bump unthinkable .
Since New York State recorded its first case of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ has rapidly become the epicenter of the pandemic in the United States .
By the 15th , three New Yorkers had died and the number of cases had ballooned to seven hundred and twenty-nine .
From there , the coronavirus spread exponentially and relentlessly .
Within a month , the state suffered more than thirteen hundred deaths .
It has nearly ten per cent of the world ’ s cases .
In our hospital , as in others across New York City , there are hundreds of patients with COVID-19 and scores on @ @ @ @ @ @ @ COVID-19-specific teams , fashioned intensive-care units from operating rooms , and adapted a rehab wing into housing for recovering patients who are unable to leave safely .
Testing swabs are in short supply .
The emergency room is full .
More than a dozen physicians have fallen ill in my department alone .
We ’ re the lucky ones .
For now , at least , our doctors have what they need to care for patients and themselves .
We have masks , gowns , eye protection .
A small army of outpatient @ @ @ @ @ @ @ health-care workers have volunteered to fill gaps in the ranks .
This week , a makeshift tent hospital sprang up in Central Park , and the U.S.N.S .
Comfort—a Navy hospital ship with a thousand beds and twelve operating rooms—docked in New York Harbor .
Still , it feels like we ’ re barely treading water .
I am nagged by a constant fear that a patient who otherwise would have been saved , on any hour of any day before this pandemic , will die today .
I ’ m a hospitalist @ @ @ @ @ @ @ cares for acutely ill hospitalized patients .
Hospitalists , along with emergency-medicine and intensive-care physicians , form the backbone of the COVID-19 response in many hospitals .
Emergency physicians stabilize patients as they come in , and decide who stays in the hospital and who goes home .
Hospitalists , in conjunction with lung and infectious-disease doctors , are caring for the majority of admitted coronavirus patients .
If things get really bad—if a patient ’ s oxygen level falls dangerously low , for example—we work with I.C.U .
doctors to decide whether @ @ @ @ @ @ @ day , I walk onto the medical floor to join my team .
A large , rectangular central workstation features remote monitoring screens , binders full of medical records , and a dozen computers .
Doctors , nurses , social workers , and pharmacists sit at the command center , flitting between phone calls and text messages , answering pages to patients ’ rooms .
Many rooms have beautiful views of the East River or the Manhattan skyline .
Before the epidemic , they would have been filled with visitors , get-well cards @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
These days , almost all of them are spartan : a bed , a patient , and the constant hiss of oxygen .
Before , I would ’ ve entered with an entourage of medical students , residents , and nurses , to banter before discussing the day ’ s plan .
Now it ’ s just me , covered from head to toe in protective gear , standing across the room , unable to offer a visible smile .
Amid an onslaught of cases , we are preparing for an even @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a new system : while I see patients on the COVID-19 floors , I am simultaneously training another doctor to take my place , should I fall ill or be needed in another part of the hospital .
These are often seasoned physicians from fields like gastroenterology or endocrinology—and so less directly experienced with infectious diseases or lung problems—who have volunteered to help with coronavirus treatment .
They will be essential for bolstering the workforce when our capacity is further strained .
I am also newly supported by a “ virtual physician ” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ will allow me to see more patients more efficiently than ever before .
These doctors work remotely ; one ’ s always in my pocket , on speakerphone , during rounds .
( Many are self-quarantining , or have other health issues preventing them from engaging in direct patient care . )
The virtual physician functions like an all-in-one coach , assistant , and scribe , updating me on vital signs and test results in real time , reviewing the latest research and guidelines , and helping prepare the documentation I ’ ll @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ s the status of the COVID test ?
” I ask , standing gloved , gowned , goggled , and masked , sweating before even entering the patient ’ s room .
“ Positive , ” she responds .
“ Just came back .
You can let him know.
” He ’ s the tenth consecutive COVID-19 patient I will see that day .
Three others are listed as likely to have the disease ; by the day ’ s end , their tests will return positive , too .
In Paulo @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” Santiago , the book ’ s protagonist , is told to sell his camel and buy a horse in order to complete his journey across the desert .
“ Horses tire bit by bit , ” the alchemist explains .
By contrast , “ camels are traitorous .
They walk thousands of paces and never seem to tire .
Then suddenly , they kneel and die.
” As experience with the pandemic grows , COVID-19 seems more camel and less horse .
Among the more disconcerting aspects of caring for patients with @ @ @ @ @ @ @ uncertain clinical decline .
A patient might seem to be improving over days or even a week , and then worsen precipitously , requiring emergency intubation .
Years of honing our clinical instincts—observing patterns in disease pace and trajectory—suddenly seem insufficient and unreliable .
We ’ re learning what to do , and when to do it , as we go .

Right now, the most striking feature of the hospital might be the difference between the world outside and the world within. Outside, New York—America’s largest and densest city—is a ghost town. Manhattan’s streets are deserted. Its car horns are silent. Its halal carts have vanished.
Inside, the hospital pulses with an energy I’ve never experienced before. The destruction wrought by the novel coronavirus is on full display, but so is the singular purpose with which clinicians of all ranks and backgrounds are responding. I have never seen new protocols adopted so quickly. Medical students are graduating early to help in the fight. Pathology residents are volunteering on the medical floors. There is a complete subjugation of ego; senior physicians are performing tasks that they haven’t done since medical school. Medicine—normally governed by rigid hierarchies and siloed fiefdoms—is free.
Arrive and security greets you with a mask on and a mask, for you, in hand. The message is unmistakable. A medical militia is at work.
I don’t want to overstate things. There’s a buffer zone. In the morning, I enter through a large atrium that once teemed with activity; it now has the feeling of an empty train station at midnight. I walk down a main hallway alone, glancing at plaques and paintings I’d never noticed before, and arrive at an idle information desk. To my left, an Au Bon Pain sits empty. To my right, rows of tables and chairs rest untouched.
I wait at an elevator bay. In months past, a car might have taken minutes to arrive, stopping at each floor during its long descent. Often, a crowd would have formed, and I’d have to wait for the next one. Now the doors open as soon as my gloved knuckle grazes the button. Inside, it’s just me and a doctor I vaguely recognize. Months ago, we consulted on a mutual patient. We nod in acknowledgement—an elbow tap too risky, a fist bump unthinkable.
Since New York State recorded its first case of COVID-19, on March 1st, it has rapidly become the epicenter of the pandemic in the United States. By the 15th, three New Yorkers had died and the number of cases had ballooned to seven hundred and twenty-nine. From there, the coronavirus spread exponentially and relentlessly. Within a month, the state suffered more than thirteen hundred deaths. It has nearly ten per cent of the world’s cases.
In our hospital, as in others across New York City, there are hundreds of patients with COVID-19 and scores on ventilators. We’ve added new COVID-19-specific teams, fashioned intensive-care units from operating rooms, and adapted a rehab wing into housing for recovering patients who are unable to leave safely. Testing swabs are in short supply. The emergency room is full. More than a dozen physicians have fallen ill in my department alone.
We’re the lucky ones. For now, at least, our doctors have what they need to care for patients and themselves. We have masks, gowns, eye protection. A small army of outpatient physicians, medical trainees, and other health-care workers have volunteered to fill gaps in the ranks. This week, a makeshift tent hospital sprang up in Central Park, and the U.S.N.S. Comfort—a Navy hospital ship with a thousand beds and twelve operating rooms—docked in New York Harbor.
Still, it feels like we’re barely treading water. I am nagged by a constant fear that a patient who otherwise would have been saved, on any hour of any day before this pandemic, will die today.
I’m a hospitalist: a doctor of internal medicine who cares for acutely ill hospitalized patients. Hospitalists, along with emergency-medicine and intensive-care physicians, form the backbone of the COVID-19 response in many hospitals.
Emergency physicians stabilize patients as they come in, and decide who stays in the hospital and who goes home. Hospitalists, in conjunction with lung and infectious-disease doctors, are caring for the majority of admitted coronavirus patients. If things get really bad—if a patient’s oxygen level falls dangerously low, for example—we work with I.C.U. doctors to decide whether and when anesthesiologists should intubate.
Each day, I walk onto the medical floor to join my team. A large, rectangular central workstation features remote monitoring screens, binders full of medical records, and a dozen computers. Doctors, nurses, social workers, and pharmacists sit at the command center, flitting between phone calls and text messages, answering pages to patients’ rooms. Many rooms have beautiful views of the East River or the Manhattan skyline. Before the epidemic, they would have been filled with visitors, get-well cards, balloons, flowers, and photographs. These days, almost all of them are spartan: a bed, a patient, and the constant hiss of oxygen. Before, I would’ve entered with an entourage of medical students, residents, and nurses, to banter before discussing the day’s plan. Now it’s just me, covered from head to toe in protective gear, standing across the room, unable to offer a visible smile.
Amid an onslaught of cases, we are preparing for an even greater deluge. We’ve instituted a new system: while I see patients on the COVID-19 floors, I am simultaneously training another doctor to take my place, should I fall ill or be needed in another part of the hospital. These are often seasoned physicians from fields like gastroenterology or endocrinology—and so less directly experienced with infectious diseases or lung problems—who have volunteered to help with coronavirus treatment. They will be essential for bolstering the workforce when our capacity is further strained.
I am also newly supported by a “virtual physician” who, it’s hoped, will allow me to see more patients more efficiently than ever before. These doctors work remotely; one’s always in my pocket, on speakerphone, during rounds. (Many are self-quarantining, or have other health issues preventing them from engaging in direct patient care.) The virtual physician functions like an all-in-one coach, assistant, and scribe, updating me on vital signs and test results in real time, reviewing the latest research and guidelines, and helping prepare the documentation I’ll have to complete later.
“What’s the status of the COVID test?” I ask, standing gloved, gowned, goggled, and masked, sweating before even entering the patient’s room.
“Positive,” she responds. “Just came back. You can let him know.”
He’s the tenth consecutive COVID-19 patient I will see that day. Three others are listed as likely to have the disease; by the day’s end, their tests will return positive, too.
In Paulo Coelho’s “The Alchemist,” Santiago, the book’s protagonist, is told to sell his camel and buy a horse in order to complete his journey across the desert. “Horses tire bit by bit,” the alchemist explains. By contrast, “camels are traitorous. They walk thousands of paces and never seem to tire. Then suddenly, they kneel and die.”
As experience with the pandemic grows, COVID-19 seems more camel and less horse. Among the more disconcerting aspects of caring for patients with the coronavirus is their sometimes rapid and uncertain clinical decline. A patient might seem to be improving over days or even a week, and then worsen precipitously, requiring emergency intubation. Years of honing our clinical instincts—observing patterns in disease pace and trajectory—suddenly seem insufficient and unreliable. We’re learning what to do, and when to do it, as we go.
For many patients, a diagnosis of COVID-19 carries with it a deep unease associated with the worst of maladies. It is not pneumonia, or diabetes, or even a heart attack; it is H.I.V. and cancer. They’ve heard the gruesome statistics on the news—the high death rates, the rapid rise in cases, the dwindling supply of needed resources. And there are few symptoms as troubling for patients as shortness of breath. With the coronavirus, the anxiety of labored breathing is exacerbated by the fact that it must be suffered alone, without friends and family and with limited contact with doctors. Among the cruellest aspects of COVID-19 is the intense isolation that it inflicts.
On several occasions, patients have grown tearful when I’ve asked about their wishes in the event of an emergency. They fear that I might connect them to a ventilator at that moment—or that, if they need one later, there won’t be any available. So it’s important for patients to hear that many people do get better. There is hope. In the hospital, we celebrate these victories every day.
In the evenings, I read about the new patients I’ll be caring for the next day—who they are, what they’ve been through, how they’ve persevered. I’m humbled that I’ll soon be their doctor. Every day, the responsibility makes me nervous.
That nervous energy is amplified because of the overwhelming threat that COVID-19 presents not just to our patients but also to us. Recently, at the end of a week that saw New York’s largest increase in coronavirus hospitalizations and deaths so far, a deeply respected physician addressed us on a conference call. “We are all going to get sick,” he said, matter-of-factly. “Eventually, all of us are going to get coronavirus. But, when you do, we will be there for you. You will not be alone.”
Not since early in my medical training have I been so severely struck by what’s known as medical students’ syndrome—a form of hypochondria in which students fear they have the disease that they’re reading about. In med school, every ache means cancer, every pain an autoimmune condition. Now, when I finally get a chance to eat dinner, I ask myself whether I can taste and smell the stale sandwich that I’m chewing. I add sriracha.
Potential damage to our health had always seemed abstract, distant. Of course, we thought: sleepless nights, greasy food, hours at the computer—they couldn’t be good. But the threat was never so immediate or palpable. Each morning, on the way to work, I wonder if I’ll be healthy enough to return tomorrow.
Lucky as I feel to have one, it’s not easy having a mask strapped to your face hour after hour. The tight seal required for N95 respirators to function properly requires a snug fit. The metal cuts into the bridge of your nose, already raw from the previous day. I’ve learned to place a fresh piece of peppermint gum in my mouth before masking up. It makes a big difference, maybe to patients, certainly to me.
I don’t spend all day on the wards. Hospitalists also have offices, and these days ours are full. Doors tend to remain open as doctors rush in and out. I pop into the office next to mine to ask a colleague if she’s seen a perplexing manifestation of the virus; a friend stops by to show me a cat video. Startup-level catered food has begun appearing, as if by magic, in a communal area. Pinned to the bulletin board, there’s a cartoon from the nineteen-nineties kids show “Pinky and the Brain.” “What are we going to do tomorrow, Brain?” Pinky asks. “Same thing we do every day, Pinky,” Brain says. “Stay home to flatten the curve.”
To help doctors cope with the burgeoning clinical and ethical demands of the epidemic, support groups—both formal and informal—are budding. I have regularly scheduled video calls with my medical-school friends. They’re scattered across the country, but the challenges they face feel familiar. If they’re not already overwhelmed by the coronavirus, they know they soon will be. Some colleagues have started a peer-support program, in which we pair off with other doctors. We check in with one another, discussing the frustrations of supply shortages, the anxiety of making hard decisions, the helplessness that comes from feeling that, despite your best efforts, people will die.
I am sympathetic to those concerned about the widespread economic and social disruption created by aggressive social distancing, and to the political and business leaders asking whether it’s all worth it. But I think that if they saw what I see—the fear, the tears, the gasping for air, the destruction of bodies and psyches wrought by the virus, the daily contortions that doctors, nurses, and hospitals must make to provide even basic care—they, too, would understand that social distancing is the only option. They would feel what I feel: that we cannot return to normal during a time when thousands of Americans, of all ages and backgrounds, cannot breathe, and there aren’t enough people or supplies to help them.
I am exhausted but content at the end of most days. The burnout-inciting frustrations of billing and documentation and electronic medical records have, for the moment, receded. Now, when I’m in the hospital, the focus is so singular, the mission so clear, that nothing else seems important. There is nowhere that I, or my colleagues, would rather be. There’s an odd sense in which the pandemic has made the practice of medicine into what many doctors hoped it would be.
The battle, however, is only beginning. Adrenaline, duty, and fear have motivated an impassioned response, but some of us wonder how sustainable it is. Nights in lonely hotel rooms, away from family; weeks of long hours and heightened risk. I go to work, alone, before the sun rises. I come home, alone, after it sets. I eat leftovers in my too-small apartment before answering another page or two and falling asleep. A surge is, by definition, time-limited. What happens when doctors can’t see the end?
More Medical Dispatches


newyorker--2020-04-02--The Coronavirus Case for Everyone to Wear Masks or Bandannas

On Wednesday evening , Eric Garcetti , the mayor of Los Angeles , gave the people of his city a message regarding masks : if you really must go out on the street , for whatever reason , cover your mouth and nose .
But don ’ t go out and buy N95 or surgical masks .
Medical workers in hospitals thick with COVID-19 cases need those , and there are not enough even for them .
For everyone else , a cloth mask , home-sewn or rigged up , or even a “ tucked-in bandanna , ” combined with @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a start .
“ We ’ re going to have to get used to seeing each other like this , ” Garcetti said .
“ This will be the look.
” He told people in the city to post images of themselves wearing masks on social media with the hashtag # LAPROTECTS .
There is much that remains uncertain in the epidemiology of the novel coronavirus .
The best reason for wearing even non-N95 face masks , as the science writer Ed Yong noted in a summary of the evidence in The Atlantic @ @ @ @ @ @ @ shield you from the virus—they probably won ’ t—but that “ they can stop viruses from getting out.
” In other words , masks prevent their wearers from spreading virus-bearing droplets .
Los Angeles was ahead of New York City in closing schools ; Garcetti ’ s advice sounds like something else that should probably have been issued here and in other hard-hit areas already .
The reasoning was clear even in what were , as of Thursday , the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention ’ s hedged directives regarding masks .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ facemask should be used by people who have COVID-19 and are showing symptoms .
This is to protect others from the risk of getting infected.
” But there is growing , strong evidence of asymptomatic and presymptomatic transmission of the virus .
So how do you know if you have COVID-19 , in the absence of testing ?
The C.D.C .
has said that it is considering issuing even stronger guidance on masks and face coverings , but , logically , it ’ s there already .
In a city like New York @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , it seems like a matter of responsibility to act as if you are infected—there is a chance that you might be—in a way that will protect others .
Covering your mouth and nose if you go out is one way to try to do that .
( Questions like how far an infectious droplet can travel have not been entirely resolved ; there are some indications that it can reach farther than the often-mentioned six feet if , for example , propelled by a vigorous sneeze . )
Austria already hands out @ @ @ @ @ @ @ store ; that is a sensible measure , particularly considering the risks that clerks are bearing to keep everyone else supplied .
A point Garcetti emphasized is that a mask is not a get-out-of-social-distancing-free card : “ To be clear , you should still stay at home .
This isn ’ t an excuse to suddenly all go out.
” The goal may be to protect other people more than you , but that is a pretty good goal .
In an opinion piece for the Times , with the title “ Why @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Masks Backfired , ” Zeynep Tufekci , a technology writer , noted , “ If the public is told that only the sick people are to wear masks , then those who do wear them will be stigmatized and people may well avoid wearing them.
” The way to counter that is to normalize mask-wearing .
And unlike , say , rushing a drug to the public without adequate testing , there is no harm in wearing a bandanna or a homemade cloth mask , which takes nothing away from anyone .
There @ @ @ @ @ @ @ at work in our reluctance to wear masks .
Perhaps we have become too used to archly dismissing the widespread wearing of masks in certain Asian countries , not only during pandemics but in regular flu seasons ; there is a notion that they make people look silly , or maybe even weak or timid .
But Hong Kong , Taiwan , and South Korea , where mask-wearing is prevalent , seem to have broken the back of the pandemic , and the U.S. has not .
Masks are certainly not the only @ @ @ @ @ @ @ is no reason to dismiss them , particularly when our own situation is so volatile .
( Also , we are not doing the amount of testing we need . )
If nothing else , it is facile to attribute such success only to extreme restrictive measures that would never be acceptable in a democratic society when mask-wearing , which has been a large part of the response , can be the most democratic gesture available .
Covering your face is like casting a vote for the pandemic to end .
That can @ @ @ @ @ @ @ new American look .
And , yes , there is a point to wearing something that falls short of the standard of an N95 mask .
The value of N95s is that , if properly fitted , they can protect their wearers from most particles , even those in finely dispersed , aerosolized form .
This is what you might encounter , say , intubating a patient , or in an emergency room where a large number of people are exhaling the virus .
But the broadest way the virus spreads is through @ @ @ @ @ @ @ help to stop a lot of those , particularly , again , if the mask-wearer is the one who is infected .
Some materials are better than others ; tightly woven cottons are good .
The Times has a pattern and instructions for making one , if you can sew .
( For those with sewing machines and more skills , the craft community has organized efforts to make masks for health-care workers ; designers such as Christian Siriano have been involved in similar efforts , and the fabric conservators at the Metropolitan @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ) Indeed , the C.D.C .
has said , in its directives to health officials and medical-care-industry leaders , “ In settings where facemasks are not available , HCP ” —health care professionals— “ might use homemade masks ( e.g.
, bandana , scarf ) for care of patients with COVID-19 as a last resort.
” Those same instructions acknowledge that they are not ideal , particularly in a hospital setting .
By wearing a bandanna on the street , any person can head off the day when an exhausted nurse or doctor @ @ @ @ @ @ @ has to tie on a bandanna before attending to yet another COVID-19 patient .
Why hadn ’ t the public been told to do this earlier , in clear terms ?
Why , indeed , did the Surgeon General initially discourage healthy-seeming people from wearing masks ?
Politico referred to the confusing message as a “ mask mystery , ” especially given that other governments are recommending their use .
A widely acknowledged answer is that there are not enough medical-grade masks , and the government fears that people would rush to buy @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Anthony Fauci , the director of the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases , in answer to a question from CNN ’ s Jim Sciutto about telling the public to wear masks , said , “ The thing that has inhibited us a bit is to make sure we don ’ t take away the supply of masks from the health-care workers who need them.
” In a briefing on Tuesday , President Trump , as he sometimes does , carelessly acknowledged this truth , saying , with regard to masks , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ things Dr. Fauci told me today is that we don ’ t want them competing , we don ’ t want everybody competing with the hospitals .
We really need them.
” Trump advised wearing a scarf— “ everybody , a lot of people have scarves ” —twirling his hands to show how one might be worn .
And this is , indeed , the best that the richest country in the world can offer now .

On Wednesday evening, Eric Garcetti, the mayor of Los Angeles, gave the people of his city a message regarding masks: if you really must go out on the street, for whatever reason, cover your mouth and nose. But don’t go out and buy N95 or surgical masks. Medical workers in hospitals thick with COVID-19 cases need those, and there are not enough even for them. For everyone else, a cloth mask, home-sewn or rigged up, or even a “tucked-in bandanna,” combined with social distancing, would at least be a start. “We’re going to have to get used to seeing each other like this,” Garcetti said. “This will be the look.” He told people in the city to post images of themselves wearing masks on social media with the hashtag #LAPROTECTS.
There is much that remains uncertain in the epidemiology of the novel coronavirus. The best reason for wearing even non-N95 face masks, as the science writer Ed Yong noted in a summary of the evidence in The Atlantic, is not that they will absolutely shield you from the virus—they probably won’t—but that “they can stop viruses from getting out.” In other words, masks prevent their wearers from spreading virus-bearing droplets. Los Angeles was ahead of New York City in closing schools; Garcetti’s advice sounds like something else that should probably have been issued here and in other hard-hit areas already. The reasoning was clear even in what were, as of Thursday, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention’s hedged directives regarding masks. Currently, they say that “a facemask should be used by people who have COVID-19 and are showing symptoms. This is to protect others from the risk of getting infected.” But there is growing, strong evidence of asymptomatic and presymptomatic transmission of the virus. So how do you know if you have COVID-19, in the absence of testing? The C.D.C. has said that it is considering issuing even stronger guidance on masks and face coverings, but, logically, it’s there already.
In a city like New York, with some fifty thousand confirmed cases, it seems like a matter of responsibility to act as if you are infected—there is a chance that you might be—in a way that will protect others. Covering your mouth and nose if you go out is one way to try to do that. (Questions like how far an infectious droplet can travel have not been entirely resolved; there are some indications that it can reach farther than the often-mentioned six feet if, for example, propelled by a vigorous sneeze.) Austria already hands out masks to everyone going into a grocery store; that is a sensible measure, particularly considering the risks that clerks are bearing to keep everyone else supplied. A point Garcetti emphasized is that a mask is not a get-out-of-social-distancing-free card: “To be clear, you should still stay at home. This isn’t an excuse to suddenly all go out.” The goal may be to protect other people more than you, but that is a pretty good goal. In an opinion piece for the Times, with the title “Why Telling People They Don’t Need Masks Backfired,” Zeynep Tufekci, a technology writer, noted, “If the public is told that only the sick people are to wear masks, then those who do wear them will be stigmatized and people may well avoid wearing them.” The way to counter that is to normalize mask-wearing. And unlike, say, rushing a drug to the public without adequate testing, there is no harm in wearing a bandanna or a homemade cloth mask, which takes nothing away from anyone.
There is an odd sort of American exceptionalism at work in our reluctance to wear masks. Perhaps we have become too used to archly dismissing the widespread wearing of masks in certain Asian countries, not only during pandemics but in regular flu seasons; there is a notion that they make people look silly, or maybe even weak or timid. But Hong Kong, Taiwan, and South Korea, where mask-wearing is prevalent, seem to have broken the back of the pandemic, and the U.S. has not. Masks are certainly not the only reason for that—testing has been crucial—but that is no reason to dismiss them, particularly when our own situation is so volatile. (Also, we are not doing the amount of testing we need.) If nothing else, it is facile to attribute such success only to extreme restrictive measures that would never be acceptable in a democratic society when mask-wearing, which has been a large part of the response, can be the most democratic gesture available. Covering your face is like casting a vote for the pandemic to end. That can be, as Garcetti suggested, the new American look.
And, yes, there is a point to wearing something that falls short of the standard of an N95 mask. The value of N95s is that, if properly fitted, they can protect their wearers from most particles, even those in finely dispersed, aerosolized form. This is what you might encounter, say, intubating a patient, or in an emergency room where a large number of people are exhaling the virus. But the broadest way the virus spreads is through droplets, and a cloth mask can help to stop a lot of those, particularly, again, if the mask-wearer is the one who is infected. Some materials are better than others; tightly woven cottons are good. The Times has a pattern and instructions for making one, if you can sew. (For those with sewing machines and more skills, the craft community has organized efforts to make masks for health-care workers; designers such as Christian Siriano have been involved in similar efforts, and the fabric conservators at the Metropolitan Museum of Art have joined in.) Indeed, the C.D.C. has said, in its directives to health officials and medical-care-industry leaders, “In settings where facemasks are not available, HCP”—health care professionals—“might use homemade masks (e.g., bandana, scarf) for care of patients with COVID-19 as a last resort.” Those same instructions acknowledge that they are not ideal, particularly in a hospital setting. By wearing a bandanna on the street, any person can head off the day when an exhausted nurse or doctor, slumped in a hospital corridor, has to tie on a bandanna before attending to yet another COVID-19 patient.
Why hadn’t the public been told to do this earlier, in clear terms? Why, indeed, did the Surgeon General initially discourage healthy-seeming people from wearing masks? Politico referred to the confusing message as a “mask mystery,” especially given that other governments are recommending their use. A widely acknowledged answer is that there are not enough medical-grade masks, and the government fears that people would rush to buy any that are left to find. Anthony Fauci, the director of the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases, in answer to a question from CNN’s Jim Sciutto about telling the public to wear masks, said, “The thing that has inhibited us a bit is to make sure we don’t take away the supply of masks from the health-care workers who need them.” In a briefing on Tuesday, President Trump, as he sometimes does, carelessly acknowledged this truth, saying, with regard to masks, “I mean, one of the things Dr. Fauci told me today is that we don’t want them competing, we don’t want everybody competing with the hospitals. We really need them.” Trump advised wearing a scarf—“everybody, a lot of people have scarves”—twirling his hands to show how one might be worn. And this is, indeed, the best that the richest country in the world can offer now.
Trump’s answer points to a deep dysfunction in his Administration’s COVID-19 response: everybody is competing for the same supplies. (New York’s Governor Andrew Cuomo compared the current situation to eBay.) Governors have been pleading for the medical-supply chain to be nationalized. E. Tammy Kim, writing in the Times, describes how South Korea countered its own rush on masks with just such a nationwide market intervention, and solved the problem. In many ways, this looks like rationing. But what the United States is doing is worse than ineffectual: it is rationing by misdirection. This will only consume trust, and trust, in a democracy, is a two-way street. Early in the Second World War, a desperate British government had fishermen and other civilians lend them their own small boats in a race to rescue soldiers from Dunkirk. Ours can ask us to wear a bandanna.
This post has been updated to include developments regarding the White House’s recommendations on masks.
A Guide to the Coronavirus


newyorker--2020-04-04--Owing to Coronavirus Concerns, We Will Now Be Holding Our Coven Meeting on Zoom

Thank you so much for bearing with us as we try to navigate this scary and confusing time .
In order to insure the safety and health of our coven , the Siren Sisters of Bramble Grove will now be holding our monthly ritual Satan worship and spell-casting meeting over the video-conferencing platform Zoom .
I know you all likely have questions and concerns , many of which I will try to address here .
On Tuesday , you will be visited by Galgar , cursed raven of the north .
Galgar will fly to your window to deliver a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and a six-digit passcode , which you can use to log in .
A reminder that Galgar is not an I.T .
specialist , he is just a bewitched anthropomorphic bird doing his best .
We all must go easy on Galgar as he adapts to his new role .
Once you have logged in to the meeting , make sure that your camera and audio are turned on .
If your audio is off and our voices are not in synch , the spells will not work .
Please do not pretend @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to turn the audio on to avoid participating in the spells .
I know we will all be in separate places , but we still need to put in a hundred-per-cent effort , as we would if we were meeting at our rock pentagram in the Hell cave .
Side note—if you left something in the Hell cave , DO NOT go back to retrieve it .
You were given explicit instructions not to leave anything behind in the Hell cave .
You will have to wait to retrieve your items until the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to the Hell cave is safe again .
Since we can not gather around our large communal cauldron , we will have to plug our smaller , at-home cauldrons into our computers .
If your miniature cauldron is new , you will be able to use wireless Bluetooth connection .
I recently realized that my new cauldron also synchs with Spotify !
Some of you have expressed qualms about the digitization of cauldrons and potion making .
Of course I would love to feel the hemlock in my hands instead of just typing @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , the new technology is able to project the screams of the damned at an even higher volume .
Plus , you can decorate your digital potion with fun little GIFs of fire and brimstone and people ’ s skin melting off their face on a loop , which I think is a fun and creative touch .
Obviously , we are going to try our best to get Satan on the call , but please don ’ t be too disappointed if he is unable to join .
As you know , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ operating newer technology .
( To be fair , Hell only recently upgraded to iOS 10 . )
I know you were all looking forward to drinking goat ’ s bile together .
Maybe it could be fun to each pour individual cups of goat ’ s bile at home and drink them on camera ?
We can clink our glasses against the screen as if we were at a real goat ’ s bile happy hour .
That could be really cute .

Hello, all,
Thank you so much for bearing with us as we try to navigate this scary and confusing time. In order to insure the safety and health of our coven, the Siren Sisters of Bramble Grove will now be holding our monthly ritual Satan worship and spell-casting meeting over the video-conferencing platform Zoom. I know you all likely have questions and concerns, many of which I will try to address here.
On Tuesday, you will be visited by Galgar, cursed raven of the north. Galgar will fly to your window to deliver a scroll containing a nine-digit meeting I.D. and a six-digit passcode, which you can use to log in. A reminder that Galgar is not an I.T. specialist, he is just a bewitched anthropomorphic bird doing his best. We all must go easy on Galgar as he adapts to his new role.
Once you have logged in to the meeting, make sure that your camera and audio are turned on. If your audio is off and our voices are not in synch, the spells will not work. Please do not pretend that you don’t know how to turn the audio on to avoid participating in the spells. I know we will all be in separate places, but we still need to put in a hundred-per-cent effort, as we would if we were meeting at our rock pentagram in the Hell cave.
Side note—if you left something in the Hell cave, DO NOT go back to retrieve it. You were given explicit instructions not to leave anything behind in the Hell cave. You will have to wait to retrieve your items until the Hell cave has been sanitized and commuting to the Hell cave is safe again.
Since we cannot gather around our large communal cauldron, we will have to plug our smaller, at-home cauldrons into our computers. If your miniature cauldron is new, you will be able to use wireless Bluetooth connection. I recently realized that my new cauldron also synchs with Spotify!
Some of you have expressed qualms about the digitization of cauldrons and potion making. Of course I would love to feel the hemlock in my hands instead of just typing “hemlock.” On the bright side, the new technology is able to project the screams of the damned at an even higher volume. Plus, you can decorate your digital potion with fun little GIFs of fire and brimstone and people’s skin melting off their face on a loop, which I think is a fun and creative touch.
Obviously, we are going to try our best to get Satan on the call, but please don’t be too disappointed if he is unable to join. As you know, he is very old and has trouble operating newer technology. (To be fair, Hell only recently upgraded to iOS 10.)
I know you were all looking forward to drinking goat’s bile together. Maybe it could be fun to each pour individual cups of goat’s bile at home and drink them on camera? We can clink our glasses against the screen as if we were at a real goat’s bile happy hour. That could be really cute.
Stay well!
Allegra the Infernal