newyorker--2020-03-18--The Risks of Building Too Many Bio Labs

The Risks of Building Too Many Bio Labs

This article was produced in a partnership between The New Yorker and the Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists .
On weekday mornings , Kimberly Dodd , a virologist and veterinarian , drives to a marina in Old Saybrook , Connecticut .
She parks alongside her colleagues ’ cars and , flashing her badge at the guards in a plexiglass booth , walks aboard a white passenger ferry .
Inside , her co-workers recline in their seats , reading , listening to headphones , or napping .
The ride to Plum Island , where they work , takes about thirty minutes @ @ @ @ @ @ @ mouth of Long Island Sound .
Low to the sea and covered with vegetation , it ’ s a three-mile-long isosceles triangle , its tail pointing eastward .
The island is home to more than two hundred species of birds , including kestrels , great horned owls , and little blue herons .
The Plum Island Animal Disease Center , where Dodd works , also hosts a rotating cast of around forty or fifty animals—mostly cattle and pigs—that do not leave alive .
According to guidelines issued by the Centers for Disease Control @ @ @ @ @ @ @ biosafety level three .
So-called BSL-3 labs can handle serious or lethal pathogens for which vaccines or treatments may be available , such as anthrax , plague , or the newly emerged coronavirus , which causes the disease COVID-19 .
In the past , Dodd has worked in labs designated BSL-4 , the highest level , which can handle airborne pathogens that may be untreatable .
In 2014 , she travelled to West Africa to combat an outbreak of the Ebola virus .
In her current job , as the director of Plum @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Laboratory , she studies diseases that could destroy the livestock industry , such as foot-and-mouth and African swine fever .
After disembarking from the ferry , Dodd boards a shuttle bus , which takes her to an office building attached to a larger white laboratory complex .
She visits her office , which has a view of the water , then begins the process of entering the lab .
She passes through a floor-to-ceiling security turnstile manned by two guards .
She leaves her clothes , shoes , and jewelry in a locker @ @ @ @ @ @ @ room , changes into scrubs and cotton socks ; she may also , in a third room , put on rubber boots , protective glasses , double gloves , and a full-body suit made of white Tyvek .
Before entering the “ dirty ” rooms , where pathogens or animals are present , she checks an airflow indicator to make sure that air is being pumped in , rather than flowing out .
Later , when Dodd leaves the lab , she removes the protective gear and takes a protocol-mandated five-minute shower .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ bringing open food containers on the ferry home ; if they ’ ve worked in one of the animal rooms , they must quarantine themselves from livestock for a minimum of five days .
Plum Island ’ s safety measures and isolated location are meant to prevent the diseases studied there from escaping and infecting American herds .
Stopping the spread of foot-and-mouth disease is particularly difficult : it ’ s capable of travelling on a trouser leg or a mud-splashed tire .
After an outbreak in 2001 , British farmers were forced @ @ @ @ @ @ @ cattle , and pigs , burying their carcasses in mass graves or burning them in pyres .
If the disease were found among American cattle , the beef industry , worth about sixty-eight billion dollars annually , would immediately shut down .
On sunny days , Dodd sometimes spends the trip home on the ferry ’ s roof deck , watching the birds , the boats , and the island ’ s receding shore .
She won ’ t have this picturesque commute forever .
In the next few years , Dodd and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Island will relocate to a new facility , which is now under construction .
Unlike Plum Island , the National Bio and Agro-Defense Facility ( N.B.A.F . )
won ’ t be geographically isolated .
It will be located in Manhattan , Kansas , a college town in the middle of cattle country .
N.B.A.F .
is part of a broad expansion in the number of American high-containment labs , which began after the 9/11 terrorist attacks and shows no sign of slowing .
The attacks , and the anthrax letters that followed @ @ @ @ @ @ @ resulting growth in BSL-3 and BSL-4 facilities expanded our research capacities .
But the expansion has also created its own risks .
No lab is perfect , and even well-run facilities suffer breaches .
The new labs are spread out geographically , and no central authority regulates them or monitors their proliferation .
The decision to build N.B.A.F .
in Manhattan , which is home to Kansas State University , was deeply contentious .
Supporters argued that its location at a major agricultural campus could speed its response to new threats .
Critics @ @ @ @ @ @ @ such close proximity to ranches and feedlots was reckless and increased the chances of a catastrophic outbreak .
The new coronavirus has plunged us into an infectious-disease crisis with which we are struggling to cope .
As we respond , the years-long debate over N.B.A.F .
raises worrying questions about American biodefense policy .
Will more labs help us fight outbreaks ?
Or are we building too many labs in too many places ?
Who , if anyone , is responsible for making sure that labs are well-run—or for saying “ stop ” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ black , red , and white billboard appeared over Highway 18 , one of the main thoroughfares leading in and out of Manhattan .
In black letters too large to miss , the sign read “ No NBAF Germ Lab !
” It had been erected by Bart Thomas , a third-generation Manhattanite and the second-generation owner of Thomas Outdoor Signs & Graphics .
The year before , Thomas had heard that Kansas State University was in the running to host the replacement for the Plum Island Animal Disease Center .
In New @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Timothy Bishop , whose district includes eastern Long Island , were opposing plans to upgrade the current Plum Island lab from BSL-3 to BSL-4 .
As a result , the Department of Homeland Security ( D.H.S . )
was searching for other sites .
Thomas read that the proposed BSL-4 lab would handle Japanese encephalitis and the Nipah and Ebola viruses , which have high mortality rates in people .
It would also study foot-and-mouth disease and be equipped to handle swine fever and avian flu—diseases capable of wiping out whole pork and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and grandchildren also live in Manhattan , was mystified and alarmed by the idea that specimens of these diseases might be brought from an isolated island lab to his hometown .
As word of the new lab spread , a small opposition group coalesced—an alliance of neighbors , churchgoers , professors , ranchers , and other concerned citizens .
Sylvia Beeman , an artist and former research assistant in the Virology and Agronomy Departments at Kansas State University , circulated a petition opposing the lab .
Bill Dorsett , a carpenter and environmental @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of the Manhattan Mercury and the Topeka Capital-Journal .
The group attended public forums held by Kansas State and D.H.S.—sometimes at conspicuously inconvenient times and locations .
( One was scheduled in a building surrounded by construction . )
At one meeting , Thomas pressed officials about why they thought N.B.A.F .
should come to Manhattan .
One official explained that , while an accident at Plum Island could affect twenty-nine million people , an accident in northeast Kansas would affect a vastly smaller number .
D.H.S .
was weighing “ community acceptance @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ; the activists hoped to show that Manhattanites weren ’ t accepting .
Dissent had been effective in other places .
In Tracey , California , where Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory had proposed locating the lab , a local grassroots organization helped generate more than seven thousand calls and letters opposing it .
A local patent lawyer also spearheaded a successful resistance movement at the University of Wisconsin .
By 2008 , D.H.S .
had winnowed its longlist of possible N.B.A.F .
destinations to six finalists .
Besides Plum Island—perhaps opposition to an @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Butner , North Carolina ( part of the Research Triangle , population 2.2 million ) ; San Antonio , Texas ( population 1.5 million ) ; Flora , Mississippi ( part of greater Jackson , population 583,080 ) ; and Athens , Georgia ( population 211,802 ) .
Manhattan—a low-rise city of detached homes and historic limestone buildings—was by far the smallest urban area on the list , with fifty-five thousand residents .

On weekday mornings, Kimberly Dodd, a virologist and veterinarian, drives to a marina in Old Saybrook, Connecticut. She parks alongside her colleagues’ cars and, flashing her badge at the guards in a plexiglass booth, walks aboard a white passenger ferry. Inside, her co-workers recline in their seats, reading, listening to headphones, or napping. The ride to Plum Island, where they work, takes about thirty minutes.
Plum Island is situated at the mouth of Long Island Sound. Low to the sea and covered with vegetation, it’s a three-mile-long isosceles triangle, its tail pointing eastward. The island is home to more than two hundred species of birds, including kestrels, great horned owls, and little blue herons. The Plum Island Animal Disease Center, where Dodd works, also hosts a rotating cast of around forty or fifty animals—mostly cattle and pigs—that do not leave alive.
According to guidelines issued by the Centers for Disease Control, the Plum Island lab operates at biosafety level three. So-called BSL-3 labs can handle serious or lethal pathogens for which vaccines or treatments may be available, such as anthrax, plague, or the newly emerged coronavirus, which causes the disease COVID-19. In the past, Dodd has worked in labs designated BSL-4, the highest level, which can handle airborne pathogens that may be untreatable. In 2014, she travelled to West Africa to combat an outbreak of the Ebola virus. In her current job, as the director of Plum Island’s Foreign Animal Disease Diagnostic Laboratory, she studies diseases that could destroy the livestock industry, such as foot-and-mouth and African swine fever.
This article was produced in a partnership between The New Yorker and the Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists.
After disembarking from the ferry, Dodd boards a shuttle bus, which takes her to an office building attached to a larger white laboratory complex. She visits her office, which has a view of the water, then begins the process of entering the lab. She passes through a floor-to-ceiling security turnstile manned by two guards. She leaves her clothes, shoes, and jewelry in a locker room, then, in a second room, changes into scrubs and cotton socks; she may also, in a third room, put on rubber boots, protective glasses, double gloves, and a full-body suit made of white Tyvek. Before entering the “dirty” rooms, where pathogens or animals are present, she checks an airflow indicator to make sure that air is being pumped in, rather than flowing out. Later, when Dodd leaves the lab, she removes the protective gear and takes a protocol-mandated five-minute shower. She and her colleagues are prohibited from bringing open food containers on the ferry home; if they’ve worked in one of the animal rooms, they must quarantine themselves from livestock for a minimum of five days.
Plum Island’s safety measures and isolated location are meant to prevent the diseases studied there from escaping and infecting American herds. Stopping the spread of foot-and-mouth disease is particularly difficult: it’s capable of travelling on a trouser leg or a mud-splashed tire. After an outbreak in 2001, British farmers were forced to kill some six million sheep, cattle, and pigs, burying their carcasses in mass graves or burning them in pyres. If the disease were found among American cattle, the beef industry, worth about sixty-eight billion dollars annually, would immediately shut down.
On sunny days, Dodd sometimes spends the trip home on the ferry’s roof deck, watching the birds, the boats, and the island’s receding shore. She won’t have this picturesque commute forever. In the next few years, Dodd and most of the other scientists on Plum Island will relocate to a new facility, which is now under construction. Unlike Plum Island, the National Bio and Agro-Defense Facility (N.B.A.F.) won’t be geographically isolated. It will be located in Manhattan, Kansas, a college town in the middle of cattle country.
N.B.A.F. is part of a broad expansion in the number of American high-containment labs, which began after the 9/11 terrorist attacks and shows no sign of slowing. The attacks, and the anthrax letters that followed, galvanized spending on biosecurity; the resulting growth in BSL-3 and BSL-4 facilities expanded our research capacities. But the expansion has also created its own risks. No lab is perfect, and even well-run facilities suffer breaches. The new labs are spread out geographically, and no central authority regulates them or monitors their proliferation. The decision to build N.B.A.F. in Manhattan, which is home to Kansas State University, was deeply contentious. Supporters argued that its location at a major agricultural campus could speed its response to new threats. Critics maintained that building an animal-disease lab in such close proximity to ranches and feedlots was reckless and increased the chances of a catastrophic outbreak.
The new coronavirus has plunged us into an infectious-disease crisis with which we are struggling to cope. As we respond, the years-long debate over N.B.A.F. raises worrying questions about American biodefense policy. Will more labs help us fight outbreaks? Or are we building too many labs in too many places? Who, if anyone, is responsible for making sure that labs are well-run—or for saying “stop”?
In September, 2008, a black, red, and white billboard appeared over Highway 18, one of the main thoroughfares leading in and out of Manhattan. In black letters too large to miss, the sign read “No NBAF Germ Lab!” It had been erected by Bart Thomas, a third-generation Manhattanite and the second-generation owner of Thomas Outdoor Signs & Graphics. The year before, Thomas had heard that Kansas State University was in the running to host the replacement for the Plum Island Animal Disease Center. In New York, Senator Hillary Clinton and Representative Timothy Bishop, whose district includes eastern Long Island, were opposing plans to upgrade the current Plum Island lab from BSL-3 to BSL-4. As a result, the Department of Homeland Security (D.H.S.) was searching for other sites.
Thomas read that the proposed BSL-4 lab would handle Japanese encephalitis and the Nipah and Ebola viruses, which have high mortality rates in people. It would also study foot-and-mouth disease and be equipped to handle swine fever and avian flu—diseases capable of wiping out whole pork and poultry operations. Thomas, whose son and grandchildren also live in Manhattan, was mystified and alarmed by the idea that specimens of these diseases might be brought from an isolated island lab to his hometown.
As word of the new lab spread, a small opposition group coalesced—an alliance of neighbors, churchgoers, professors, ranchers, and other concerned citizens. Sylvia Beeman, an artist and former research assistant in the Virology and Agronomy Departments at Kansas State University, circulated a petition opposing the lab. Bill Dorsett, a carpenter and environmental activist, wrote letters to the editors of the Manhattan Mercury and the Topeka Capital-Journal. The group attended public forums held by Kansas State and D.H.S.—sometimes at conspicuously inconvenient times and locations. (One was scheduled in a building surrounded by construction.) At one meeting, Thomas pressed officials about why they thought N.B.A.F. should come to Manhattan. One official explained that, while an accident at Plum Island could affect twenty-nine million people, an accident in northeast Kansas would affect a vastly smaller number.
D.H.S. was weighing “community acceptance” as one of its site-selection criteria; the activists hoped to show that Manhattanites weren’t accepting. Dissent had been effective in other places. In Tracey, California, where Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory had proposed locating the lab, a local grassroots organization helped generate more than seven thousand calls and letters opposing it. A local patent lawyer also spearheaded a successful resistance movement at the University of Wisconsin. By 2008, D.H.S. had winnowed its longlist of possible N.B.A.F. destinations to six finalists. Besides Plum Island—perhaps opposition to an upgrade could be overcome—the other four were Butner, North Carolina (part of the Research Triangle, population 2.2 million); San Antonio, Texas (population 1.5 million); Flora, Mississippi (part of greater Jackson, population 583,080); and Athens, Georgia (population 211,802). Manhattan—a low-rise city of detached homes and historic limestone buildings—was by far the smallest urban area on the list, with fifty-five thousand residents.
Since the late nineteen-nineties, Pat Roberts, the Kansas senator, had been pushing for a biodefense facility in the state; he hoped to transform Manhattan into the “Silicon Valley for biodefense.” In 1999, at Roberts’s urging, three K-State faculty members—Ron Trewyn, a biology professor and dean, and Jerry and Nancy Jaax, medical-defense experts who’d appeared as characters in Richard Preston’s 1994 book “The Hot Zone”—developed a plan for a facility that could study infectious disease in plants, animals, and the food supply. In 2008, a version of their proposed lab opened as a BSL-3 facility called the Biosecurity Research Institute. By then, D.H.S. had begun considering sites for N.B.A.F. Roberts personally appealed to administration officials, hosting them on visits to K-State. He told a joint session of the Kansas state legislature that “securing this facility would be one of, if not the greatest, economic development initiatives in state history.”
In January, 2009, D.H.S. decided on Manhattan. Before Congress released the necessary funds to D.H.S., however, it required the agency to produce a detailed “site-specific risk assessment,” which would be reviewed by the National Academy of Sciences. In 2010, the Academy’s committee, which consisted of more than a dozen science and policy experts, found that the plan did “not account for the overall risks associated with operating the NBAF and conducting foot and mouth disease virus work in Manhattan, Kansas.” The report concluded that, in a projected fifty-year life span, the probability of a foot-and-mouth outbreak originating from the lab was about seventy per cent. For a time, construction was put on hold. Local people continued to protest. In 2012, Stephen Anderson, a lifelong rancher, spoke at a meeting on the lab. “Jobs, politics, and patronage,” he said, had blinded policymakers. Later, Anderson sent a letter to the editor of the Topeka Capital-Journal. “The committee has decreed all is well,” he wrote. “Yet when some horrific Level 4 pathogen escapes a Manhattan bio lab, all the heartland will weep with remorse.”
In 1346, Mongols catapulted dead plague victims into the Genoese city of Caffa. In 1763, British leaders at Fort Pitt—now Pittsburgh—gave blankets from its smallpox hospital to Native American chiefs. But the modern era of biowarfare didn’t begin until the late nineteenth century, when scientists came to understand that microbes cause disease. Germany launched the first state-run biological-weapons program around 1914; the United States followed, in 1942.
Japan’s biological attacks on China during the nineteen-forties, which by some estimates killed tens of thousands of people, remain history’s most deadly; among other strategies, the Japanese dropped plague-infested fleas from aircraft. After the Second World War, both the United States and the Soviet Union began mastering sophisticated aerosol delivery techniques. Unnerved by the destructive potential of biowarfare, President Richard Nixon terminated the American program in 1969; the Biological Weapons Convention, which banned the development and possession of bioweapons, took effect in 1975. The convention has been brazenly violated, notably by Iraq and the Soviet Union. (In 1979, a Soviet lab in Sverdlovsk accidentally released a puff of anthrax spores into the sky, killing about sixty-four people; had the wind been blowing in the opposite direction, hundreds of thousands could have died.) Yet the convention has also reinforced a widespread sense that bioweapons are wildly dangerous and morally repugnant. Although a few governments and criminals have made low-tech attempts to contaminate water, food, or clothing, there has been no state-on-state biological warfare since the Second World War.


newyorker--2020-03-18--What We’re Buying for the Coronavirus Quarantine

For all the ink spent in praise of human grit and resilience , our fearlessness and indefatigability , the real ribbon that ties us together is a collective hope that , in the end , everything will be O.K .
As the devastating impact of the novel coronavirus outbreak has shut down cities ( and entire nations ) worldwide , New Yorkers—their city on the cusp of crisis—are adjusting to an anxious new reality with varying degrees of resistance .
During this past weekend , bars and restaurants were packed with customers ostentatiously flaunting a defiance of health officials ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to slowing the virus ’ s spread .
( On Sunday night , Mayor Bill de Blasio ordered the city ’ s bars and restaurants to close for all but takeout and delivery . )
Many others were already in self-isolation , staying indoors and working from home , hoping that early social distancing would speed the city ’ s return to normality .
Plenty of New Yorkers—including health-care providers , delivery couriers , and transportation workers—don ’ t have the luxury of withdrawing from the public , even if they desire to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ busier than ever are the employees of the city ’ s grocery stores , one of the few types of businesses that remain open .
At supermarkets across the city , shoppers have thronged the aisles , some anxiously provisioning for weeks of bunkering at home , others simply ( and , perhaps , defiantly ) going about their normal routines .

For all the ink spent in praise of human grit and resilience, our fearlessness and indefatigability, the real ribbon that ties us together is a collective hope that, in the end, everything will be O.K. As the devastating impact of the novel coronavirus outbreak has shut down cities (and entire nations) worldwide, New Yorkers—their city on the cusp of crisis—are adjusting to an anxious new reality with varying degrees of resistance. During this past weekend, bars and restaurants were packed with customers ostentatiously flaunting a defiance of health officials’ urgent warnings that social distancing is vital to slowing the virus’s spread. (On Sunday night, Mayor Bill de Blasio ordered the city’s bars and restaurants to close for all but takeout and delivery.) Many others were already in self-isolation, staying indoors and working from home, hoping that early social distancing would speed the city’s return to normality.
Plenty of New Yorkers—including health-care providers, delivery couriers, and transportation workers—don’t have the luxury of withdrawing from the public, even if they desire to. One group that’s possibly busier than ever are the employees of the city’s grocery stores, one of the few types of businesses that remain open. At supermarkets across the city, shoppers have thronged the aisles, some anxiously provisioning for weeks of bunkering at home, others simply (and, perhaps, defiantly) going about their normal routines.


newyorker--2020-03-18--Joe Biden, the Normalcy Candidate, Keeps Winning in Abnormal Times

“ I believe history will look back on four years of this President , and all he embraces , as an aberrant moment in time , ” Joe Biden said last April , in the video that marked his entrance into the Presidential race .
“ We have to remember who we are .
This is America.
” Biden was entering the race relatively late , and although his opening argument was explicitly about Donald Trump , it was also implicitly about the rest of the Democratic field .
Many of the twenty-odd candidates then in the race , from @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Harris and Pete Buttigieg , were battling for the favor of progressive voters .
They talked about Trump not as an aberration but as a symptom of an underlying condition afflicting the country .
Biden didn ’ t approach things that way .
He was the normalcy candidate .
He asked voters not to look ahead , to potential policies like Medicare for All or free public colleges , but to look back , to the Obama Administration and its relative stability .
Wouldn ’ t a restoration be nice ?
Let ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ much of the year that followed , Biden was a secondary candidate in everything but the polls .
His campaign operation and fund-raising were anemic .
His events were sleepy .
On the debate stage , he had his best nights when he stayed out of the way .
When other candidates focussed on him , and his long history in the Senate—from his working alongside segregationists through his championing of the crime bill—he was in trouble .
Biden ’ s strength in the polls was assumed to reflect voters ’ familiarity with @ @ @ @ @ @ @ got from being Obama ’ s Vice-President .
The thinking was that , if Biden lost some early primaries—despite his national strength , his numbers were never as good in Iowa and New Hampshire—the sheen would wear off , and Biden ’ s candidacy would collapse .
Once voting began , in early February , that theory seemed to play out as expected : Biden came in fourth in Iowa and then fifth in New Hampshire .
In Nevada , he came in a distant second to Sanders .
Then came South Carolina @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , Biden was the front-runner .
In polls , voters said that they liked the policy ideas put forward by Sanders and others .
But , at polling places , they went for Biden .
The COVID-19 pandemic has begun to paralyze parts of the country just as the Democratic primary seems to be coming to its conclusion .
On Tuesday , as the number of deaths from the virus topped a hundred , and the Treasury Secretary warned lawmakers that unemployment could reach twenty per cent , voters in Florida , Illinois @ @ @ @ @ @ @ observe social-distancing recommendations as they stood in line to vote .
( Ohio , too , was scheduled to vote , but it postponed its elections in the name of public safety . )
Biden , who already held a commanding delegate lead , won resounding victories in all three states .
These may be the last in-person elections held in this country for some time .
Sanders ’ s campaign has made some noise that he plans to remain in the race .
But he increasingly looks like the version of himself @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to pull the presumptive nominee to the left—rather than the front-runner he was just a few weeks ago .
All year , Democrats argued over what “ return to normal ” politics really meant .
What would a return to normal be for undocumented immigrants , or the uninsured , or people whose lives were being constricted by student loans ?
But now , with many Americans shut up in their homes , or soon to be , many voters continue to say that a return to normal sounds pretty good .

“I believe history will look back on four years of this President, and all he embraces, as an aberrant moment in time,” Joe Biden said last April, in the video that marked his entrance into the Presidential race. “We have to remember who we are. This is America.” Biden was entering the race relatively late, and although his opening argument was explicitly about Donald Trump, it was also implicitly about the rest of the Democratic field. Many of the twenty-odd candidates then in the race, from Bernie Sanders and Elizabeth Warren to Kamala Harris and Pete Buttigieg, were battling for the favor of progressive voters. They talked about Trump not as an aberration but as a symptom of an underlying condition afflicting the country. Biden didn’t approach things that way. He was the normalcy candidate. He asked voters not to look ahead, to potential policies like Medicare for All or free public colleges, but to look back, to the Obama Administration and its relative stability. Wouldn’t a restoration be nice? Let’s remember who we are.
For much of the year that followed, Biden was a secondary candidate in everything but the polls. His campaign operation and fund-raising were anemic. His events were sleepy. On the debate stage, he had his best nights when he stayed out of the way. When other candidates focussed on him, and his long history in the Senate—from his working alongside segregationists through his championing of the crime bill—he was in trouble. Biden’s strength in the polls was assumed to reflect voters’ familiarity with him and the sheen of electability he got from being Obama’s Vice-President. The thinking was that, if Biden lost some early primaries—despite his national strength, his numbers were never as good in Iowa and New Hampshire—the sheen would wear off, and Biden’s candidacy would collapse. Once voting began, in early February, that theory seemed to play out as expected: Biden came in fourth in Iowa and then fifth in New Hampshire. In Nevada, he came in a distant second to Sanders. Then came South Carolina, followed by Super Tuesday. Suddenly, Biden was the front-runner. In polls, voters said that they liked the policy ideas put forward by Sanders and others. But, at polling places, they went for Biden.
The COVID-19 pandemic has begun to paralyze parts of the country just as the Democratic primary seems to be coming to its conclusion. On Tuesday, as the number of deaths from the virus topped a hundred, and the Treasury Secretary warned lawmakers that unemployment could reach twenty per cent, voters in Florida, Illinois, and Arizona did their best to observe social-distancing recommendations as they stood in line to vote. (Ohio, too, was scheduled to vote, but it postponed its elections in the name of public safety.) Biden, who already held a commanding delegate lead, won resounding victories in all three states.
These may be the last in-person elections held in this country for some time. Sanders’s campaign has made some noise that he plans to remain in the race. But he increasingly looks like the version of himself that ran in 2016—a message candidate looking to pull the presumptive nominee to the left—rather than the front-runner he was just a few weeks ago. All year, Democrats argued over what “return to normal” politics really meant. What would a return to normal be for undocumented immigrants, or the uninsured, or people whose lives were being constricted by student loans? But now, with many Americans shut up in their homes, or soon to be, many voters continue to say that a return to normal sounds pretty good.


newyorker--2020-03-18--The Coronavirus’s Impact on Manhattan’s Chinatown

“ We are surviving one day at a time , ” Kevin Zheng , the thirty-year-old manager and co-owner of Sichuan Hot Pot , told me , as I sat down to dinner in his cavernous restaurant , on Pell Street , in Chinatown , last Friday .
It was 7 P.M. and I was the only patron in a dining room that seats a hundred people .
Like every commercial establishment in Chinatown , Sichuan Hot Pot has taken an unprecedented hit in the days since the world was introduced to COVID-19 .
Business began sagging in January , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ plummetted last week , when New York City declared a state of emergency and announced restrictions on public gatherings .
Operating at a loss was already a reality for some restaurants in Chinatown , but the inability to operate at all was also becoming a possibility , Zheng told me .
And then there is the welfare of his workers : Zheng currently employs more than a dozen waiters , cooks , and dishwashers , and he is worried about how they will cope if he has to close .
Some restaurants in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , which has been in business on Elizabeth Street since 1972—have already been forced to do so , at least temporarily .
At one of my favorite Chinese supermarkets , New Kam Man , on Canal Street , the genial owner , Wellman Wu , a man in his seventies , told me that , last month , the Kam Man stores ( the supermarket is part of a small chain ) were down by two hundred thousand dollars .
On the day I visited last week , he was closing the store @ @ @ @ @ @ @ order eel over rice and seafood noodle soup nearly every week .
“ I didn ’ t have a choice , ” Wu said .
This past Sunday , the city announced that all restaurants , bars , and cafés must close , except for takeout and delivery service .
Nobody knows for how long that will continue .
On Monday , I stopped by Sichuan Hot Pot again .
Zheng wasn ’ t there , but I asked a young waitress if she knew what his plans are .
“ I don @ @ @ @ @ @ @ handing me a menu , perhaps out of sheer force of habit .
“ We are making decisions hour by hour at this point.
” • None How to practice social distancing , from responding to a sick housemate to the pros and cons of ordering food .
• None How people cope and create new customs amid a pandemic .
• None What it means to contain and mitigate the coronavirus outbreak .
• None How much of the world is likely to be quarantined ?
• None Donald Trump in the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ coronavirus is likely to spread for more than a year before a vaccine could be widely available .
• None We are all irrational panic shoppers .
• None The strange terror of watching the coronavirus take Rome .

“We are surviving one day at a time,” Kevin Zheng, the thirty-year-old manager and co-owner of Sichuan Hot Pot, told me, as I sat down to dinner in his cavernous restaurant, on Pell Street, in Chinatown, last Friday. It was 7 P.M. and I was the only patron in a dining room that seats a hundred people. Like every commercial establishment in Chinatown, Sichuan Hot Pot has taken an unprecedented hit in the days since the world was introduced to COVID-19. Business began sagging in January, around the Chinese New Year, and plummetted last week, when New York City declared a state of emergency and announced restrictions on public gatherings.
Operating at a loss was already a reality for some restaurants in Chinatown, but the inability to operate at all was also becoming a possibility, Zheng told me. And then there is the welfare of his workers: Zheng currently employs more than a dozen waiters, cooks, and dishwashers, and he is worried about how they will cope if he has to close. Some restaurants in the neighborhood—including the dim-sum palace Jing Fong, which has been in business on Elizabeth Street since 1972—have already been forced to do so, at least temporarily. At one of my favorite Chinese supermarkets, New Kam Man, on Canal Street, the genial owner, Wellman Wu, a man in his seventies, told me that, last month, the Kam Man stores (the supermarket is part of a small chain) were down by two hundred thousand dollars. On the day I visited last week, he was closing the store’s lunch counter, where I order eel over rice and seafood noodle soup nearly every week. “I didn’t have a choice,” Wu said. This past Sunday, the city announced that all restaurants, bars, and cafés must close, except for takeout and delivery service. Nobody knows for how long that will continue. On Monday, I stopped by Sichuan Hot Pot again. Zheng wasn’t there, but I asked a young waitress if she knew what his plans are. “I don’t,” she said, handing me a menu, perhaps out of sheer force of habit. “We are making decisions hour by hour at this point.”
A Guide to the Coronavirus


newyorker--2020-03-18--How Governments Respond to Pandemics Like the Coronavirus

Sir Richard J. Evans , the provost of Gresham College , in London , is one the preëminent scholars of the Third Reich and modern Germany .
Best known for his trilogy about Hitler and the Second World War , Evans has also extended his scholarship to numerous other areas , including pandemics .
In 1987 , he published “ Death in Hamburg : Society and Politics in the Cholera Years ( 1830-1910 ) .
” More recently , he gave a series of lectures at Gresham College titled “ The Great Plagues : Epidemics in History from the Middle @ @ @ @ @ @ @ recently spoke by phone with Evans in the hope of bringing some historical perspective to the coronavirus pandemic—in particular , to understand how leaders throughout history , including those with authoritarian leanings , have reacted to health emergencies .
During our conversation , which has been edited for length and clarity , we discussed how new technologies , from the railways to modern medicine , have shaped outbreaks , the different ways in which the United Kingdom and the United States have responded to the coronavirus , and why , even under different @ @ @ @ @ @ @ s the epidemic that ’ s calling the shots.
” What is your biggest takeaway when you consider how epidemics have shaped human history ?
Human society has always been subject to major epidemics , and has dealt with them in quite similar ways over the centuries , even over the millennia .
Of course , human society itself has also changed the way in which epidemics work .
William H. McNeill , the great world historian , wrote a book called “ Plagues and Peoples , ” where he made a powerful @ @ @ @ @ @ @ human society .
Take the Black Death , for example , in 1349 , which killed maybe half the population in Europe .
The economic effects were absolutely profound , when you think of the labor shortage , for example—too few people to work the fields—and the change in social relations and social structures .
But I think it ’ s also a two-way process .
For example , in the Middle Ages or even in the late Roman Empire , plague spread fairly slowly , and you could deal with it by @ @ @ @ @ @ @ well organized enough to do that .
Then you got a big acceleration in the nineteenth century that comes with the railways .
Cholera was a disease that hadn ’ t been known outside northeast India , but the British Empire , conquering North India , opened up trade routes .
Railways spread the cholera very rapidly when it got to Europe .
Steamships across the Atlantic , and of course , industrialization , with massive overcrowding and poverty , made it much easier to spread it in cities and towns .
It @ @ @ @ @ @ @ s first thing that occurs to me .
What was it about Hamburg that made you want to study that city , and why did you think that case study was so interesting or important ?
Well , it ’ s the only city in western Central Europe that had a large-scale cholera epidemic in 1892 .
It ’ s more or less vanished from most of Europe , apart from tsarist Russia , long before that stage .
There isn ’ t an epidemic in Great Britain , for example , after @ @ @ @ @ @ @ know why this one occurred so late , and why is it so bad—I mean , ten thousand deaths in about six weeks .
That ’ s what really made me look at it .
Also , I hesitate to do this , but let me quote Lenin , who says that there are certain events that open like a flash of lightning across a landscape .
They make you see all kinds of things that you wouldn ’ t otherwise see .
Everybody who lived through the cholera epidemic in 1892 in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ newspapers or whatever—they all wrote about it .
The source material is fantastic .
It can enable you to see the whole structure of the city and the nature of politics and society .
Then it ’ s just in the statistical age , so you ’ ve got a lot of very good statistics that you can use to look at things like social distribution of disease , for example .
Then there ’ s a bigger question , which is that Hamburg , of course , was the second city in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , one of the biggest in the world .
It was an autonomous city-state within the German Empire , and it ran its own affairs .
It was run by merchants , who suppressed the news of the arrival of the disease from Russia , because they thought that quarantines would be imposed and that would damage trade .
I think we can see some parallels there in the present day .
The coronavirus began in China , and initially China ’ s authorities tried to suppress the news .
When it got @ @ @ @ @ @ @ it anymore , then they changed their course .
You can look at the way in which society interacts with epidemic diseases and you can see certain similarities across the centuries .
Do you see differences across the centuries , too ?
Do you think people have gotten smarter about these things , or is human nature just what it is ?
There are differences .
First of all , medical science has got a lot better at identifying disease and a lot better at developing preventive measures .
We are confidently expecting @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a vaccine for the coronavirus .
Well , in the nineteenth century and before , medical science had very little idea of what caused disease , and for a very long time it was thought , for example , that cholera was caused by a miasma or a kind of invisible gas , rising from the ground and poisoning people .
It was only the development of germ theory by Pasteur and Koch , in the late nineteenth century , that made people realize that it was spread by a bacillus .
Because @ @ @ @ @ @ @ you could see these different organisms .
It ’ s different from a virus , and in some ways you combat it by acid and disinfection , but , in particular , by clean water .
Cholera is carried in water , and so if you can get clean water , filtrated water , purified water , then people can use that and will not get infected .
Also , hygienic measures are somewhat similar to today .
Again , washing your hands , particularly after you go to the bathroom , was @ @ @ @ @ @ @ transmission of cholera , because it ’ s a disease of the digestive tract .
One difference is that , in the nineteenth century , people had all kinds of theories about how diseases spread , but it ’ s only in our own time that the science has become sophisticated and precise enough to pin it down and to develop , in an astonishingly short time , a preventive measure .
There was no known cure for cholera or bubonic plague or any major disease , really , for a very , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the twentieth century .
The second major difference is very striking .
It ’ s what some have called the medicalization of society .
If you look at cholera in the nineteenth century , whether it ’ s in Britain in 1832 or in Naples in 1884 or in many other countries when it arrived , the authorities tried to impose quarantines , isolation , and , later on in the nineteenth century , disinfection and so on .
There were riots because people objected to the state interfering this way .
Now @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , so we ’ re clamoring for the state to intervene to try and control the disease .
We accept medical science in a way that it was not accepted at a popular level in the nineteenth century .
I think that ’ s very good , that we do now listen to the medics more than people did in the nineteenth century .
Then , of course , in the nineteenth century , medicine , as I said , was not very effective at killing disease , and there was a lot @ @ @ @ @ @ @

Sir Richard J. Evans, the provost of Gresham College, in London, is one the preëminent scholars of the Third Reich and modern Germany. Best known for his trilogy about Hitler and the Second World War, Evans has also extended his scholarship to numerous other areas, including pandemics. In 1987, he published “Death in Hamburg: Society and Politics in the Cholera Years (1830-1910).” More recently, he gave a series of lectures at Gresham College titled “The Great Plagues: Epidemics in History from the Middle Ages to the Present Day.”
I recently spoke by phone with Evans in the hope of bringing some historical perspective to the coronavirus pandemic—in particular, to understand how leaders throughout history, including those with authoritarian leanings, have reacted to health emergencies. During our conversation, which has been edited for length and clarity, we discussed how new technologies, from the railways to modern medicine, have shaped outbreaks, the different ways in which the United Kingdom and the United States have responded to the coronavirus, and why, even under different forms of government, “it’s the epidemic that’s calling the shots.”
What is your biggest takeaway when you consider how epidemics have shaped human history?
Human society has always been subject to major epidemics, and has dealt with them in quite similar ways over the centuries, even over the millennia. Of course, human society itself has also changed the way in which epidemics work. William H. McNeill, the great world historian, wrote a book called “Plagues and Peoples,” where he made a powerful argument for the impact of plagues upon human society. Take the Black Death, for example, in 1349, which killed maybe half the population in Europe. The economic effects were absolutely profound, when you think of the labor shortage, for example—too few people to work the fields—and the change in social relations and social structures.
But I think it’s also a two-way process. For example, in the Middle Ages or even in the late Roman Empire, plague spread fairly slowly, and you could deal with it by quarantine, unless societies weren’t well organized enough to do that. Then you got a big acceleration in the nineteenth century that comes with the railways. Cholera was a disease that hadn’t been known outside northeast India, but the British Empire, conquering North India, opened up trade routes. Railways spread the cholera very rapidly when it got to Europe. Steamships across the Atlantic, and of course, industrialization, with massive overcrowding and poverty, made it much easier to spread it in cities and towns. It is a two-way process. That’s first thing that occurs to me.
What was it about Hamburg that made you want to study that city, and why did you think that case study was so interesting or important?
Well, it’s the only city in western Central Europe that had a large-scale cholera epidemic in 1892. It’s more or less vanished from most of Europe, apart from tsarist Russia, long before that stage. There isn’t an epidemic in Great Britain, for example, after 1866, and so I wanted to know why this one occurred so late, and why is it so bad—I mean, ten thousand deaths in about six weeks. That’s what really made me look at it.
Also, I hesitate to do this, but let me quote Lenin, who says that there are certain events that open like a flash of lightning across a landscape. They make you see all kinds of things that you wouldn’t otherwise see. Everybody who lived through the cholera epidemic in 1892 in Hamburg and wrote letters or diaries or newspapers or whatever—they all wrote about it. The source material is fantastic. It can enable you to see the whole structure of the city and the nature of politics and society. Then it’s just in the statistical age, so you’ve got a lot of very good statistics that you can use to look at things like social distribution of disease, for example.
Then there’s a bigger question, which is that Hamburg, of course, was the second city in Germany. It was a major seaport, one of the biggest in the world. It was an autonomous city-state within the German Empire, and it ran its own affairs. It was run by merchants, who suppressed the news of the arrival of the disease from Russia, because they thought that quarantines would be imposed and that would damage trade.
I think we can see some parallels there in the present day. The coronavirus began in China, and initially China’s authorities tried to suppress the news. When it got out and they couldn’t contain it anymore, then they changed their course. You can look at the way in which society interacts with epidemic diseases and you can see certain similarities across the centuries.
Do you see differences across the centuries, too? Do you think people have gotten smarter about these things, or is human nature just what it is?
There are differences. First of all, medical science has got a lot better at identifying disease and a lot better at developing preventive measures. We are confidently expecting, in eighteen months or so, a vaccine for the coronavirus. Well, in the nineteenth century and before, medical science had very little idea of what caused disease, and for a very long time it was thought, for example, that cholera was caused by a miasma or a kind of invisible gas, rising from the ground and poisoning people.
It was only the development of germ theory by Pasteur and Koch, in the late nineteenth century, that made people realize that it was spread by a bacillus. Because of the development of the microscope, you could see these different organisms. It’s different from a virus, and in some ways you combat it by acid and disinfection, but, in particular, by clean water. Cholera is carried in water, and so if you can get clean water, filtrated water, purified water, then people can use that and will not get infected. Also, hygienic measures are somewhat similar to today. Again, washing your hands, particularly after you go to the bathroom, was a very big way of preventing the transmission of cholera, because it’s a disease of the digestive tract.
One difference is that, in the nineteenth century, people had all kinds of theories about how diseases spread, but it’s only in our own time that the science has become sophisticated and precise enough to pin it down and to develop, in an astonishingly short time, a preventive measure. There was no known cure for cholera or bubonic plague or any major disease, really, for a very, very long time, not really till the twentieth century. The second major difference is very striking. It’s what some have called the medicalization of society. If you look at cholera in the nineteenth century, whether it’s in Britain in 1832 or in Naples in 1884 or in many other countries when it arrived, the authorities tried to impose quarantines, isolation, and, later on in the nineteenth century, disinfection and so on. There were riots because people objected to the state interfering this way. Now we’re clamoring for preventive measures, so we’re clamoring for the state to intervene to try and control the disease. We accept medical science in a way that it was not accepted at a popular level in the nineteenth century. I think that’s very good, that we do now listen to the medics more than people did in the nineteenth century. Then, of course, in the nineteenth century, medicine, as I said, was not very effective at killing disease, and there was a lot of confusion about what caused it.


newyorker--2020-03-18--What to Stream: Classics for Comfort While Quarantined Against the Coronavirus

“ Happiness isn ’ t cheerful , ” goes the last line of one of the greatest of movies , Max Ophüls ’ s “ Le Plaisir , ” and so it is with comfort movies .
They take paradoxical forms : I don ’ t know many people who are hunkering down with giddy comedies and blithe musicals , however exhilarating and imaginative those might be .
Rather , I ’ m picking up on a search for substance , for movies that have the settled and solid quality of classics ( despite the narrow assumptions on which such @ @ @ @ @ @ @ for the mood , compelling enough to provide ready distraction , and confident enough to look beyond the troubles that they evoke .
Here are some of the movies that I ’ ve been grateful to watch in the past few stressful days .
The first is all too timely : Allan Dwan ’ s drama “ Driftwood , ” from 1947 , a recent major rediscovery and restoration under the artistic aegis of Martin Scorsese .
It ’ s the story of a small town in Colorado that ’ s facing an @ @ @ @ @ @ @ that refuses to be vaccinated , and under the irresponsible watch of a vain and demagogic mayor who diverts money from a hospital to a park .
( The mayor ’ s son , by the way , is a schoolyard bully . )
The nine-year-old Natalie Wood plays an orphan rescued from the wilderness by a young doctor and scientist ( Dean Jagger ) , who ’ s desperately attempting to overcome local resistance and protect the town from the disease along with a local teacher ( Ruth Warrick ) , whom @ @ @ @ @ @ @ role in the film , too , and it wouldn ’ t be Hollywood if its role weren ’ t sentimental ; ultimately , science and faith join forces to save the day .
It ’ s a good time to dream optimistically .
“ American Hot Wax , ” from 1978 , is a tale of the cultural upheavals of the nineteen-fifties .
It ’ s a narrow-span bio-pic on a huge canvas with a teeming cast , the story ( rearranged and sanitized ) of the vast achievement and rapid fall @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
and impresario who pushed rock and roll further into the forefront of the mainstream than the mainstream was yet ready to bear—and of the efforts of the authorities to shut down Freed , stop his concerts , and suppress the music .
Tim McIntyre gives an astonishingly centered , swinging performance as Freed , imbuing him with a restraint that vibrates with focussed insight , passion , and energy .
Freed is surrounded by musicians who fill the movie with onscreen performance , as well as by composers ( notably one played @ @ @ @ @ @ @ shape it in real time , hustlers looking to exploit the music , and people in the city whose lives the music is changing .
It ’ s a behind-the-scenes story of creating music and creating its historical moment ; it ’ s also a story of the ambient bigotry , racism , sexism , and narrow moralism that dominated public life at the time—the climactic scene involves the police finding pretexts for shutting down a concert featuring Chuck Berry and Jerry Lee Lewis , both of whom deliver exhilarating performances as themselves @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Mutrux , one of the hidden heroes of the American cinema of the seventies ( his films “ Dusty and Sweets McGee ” and “ Aloha , Bobby and Rose ” are also streaming ) ; his connection to rock music is at the very core of his work .
One of the staples of Depression-era Hollywood was the glossily aristocratic romantic comedy set in the pleasure domes of Europe .
“ The Bride Wore Red , ” from 1937 , directed by Dorothy Arzner , turns the genre inside-out with acrid insight @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a cynical aristocrat ( George Zucco ) gives a dive-bar singer and taxi dancer ( and , as far as Hollywood at the time could hint , a prostitute ) named Anni Pavlovitch ( Joan Crawford ) a two-week interlude impersonating an aristocratic woman at a swank resort in the Alpine village of Terrano .
There , the glamorous and bewitching newly christened Anni Vivaldi , decked out in finery on her benefactor ’ s expense account , turns the heads of many men—especially the whimsical local postman ( the impulsively imaginative Franchot @ @ @ @ @ @ @ husband ) and another aristocrat ( Robert Young ) who ’ s currently engaged to a woman from his own set ( Lynne Carver ) .
After her first taste of wealth—for that matter , her first taste of knowing where her next meal is coming from—Anni has no intention of giving it up , and plots and schemes to marry rich in a big hurry .
Arzner—working with a raft of screenwriters ( credited and not ) , including the novelist Tess Slesinger , who adapted a play by Ferenc Molnár—looks with @ @ @ @ @ @ @ desperation , which Crawford embodies with her custom blend of ferocity and yearning .
The movie whirls ahead with a wild panoply of twists and wily intrigue ; even as Hollywood coincidences and Hollywood sentiment put the recklessly unstable tale on solid ground , the enduring impression is of a sham society that dispenses its rewards to the unworthy .
A thought for Italy : Pier Paolo Pasolini , a poet who , in the early sixties , nearing forty , had just begun his movie career , made a documentary that premièred @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” in which he travels through Italy and—appearing on camera , microphone in hand , interviews his compatriots about sex .
His approach is wide-ranging , frank , insistent , hearty , and wry .
He interviews boys about the birds and the bees , talks with girls about whether they have the same freedom as boys , asks beachgoers and soldiers , bourgeois intellectuals and factory workers and businessmen about homosexuality , prostitution , pornography , promiscuity , marriage , divorce , and the sediment of unchallenged traditions .
One of the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ alike , in Sicily , discussing the virtual impossibility of women there participating at all in public life .
( A remarkable follow-up to that sequence is Kim Longinotto ’ s 2019 documentary “ Shooting the Mafia , ” which isn ’ t streaming yet—I ’ ll keep an eye out . )
Pasolini ’ s interspersed discussions with such writers as Alberto Moravia and Oriana Fallaci are both sincere and ironic : their perspectives suggest that the work being done by Pasolini is filling a vast void in Italian cultural life .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ on joyfully .
In 1920 , less than two years after the first wave of the influenza pandemic wrought havoc , John Ford made his first movie for the producer William Fox , “ Just Pals , ” a comedic drama of love for American society ’ s despised outsiders and of contempt for its snooty moralists .
( Ford is here credited as “ Jack Ford , ” which catches the movie ’ s breezy manner and vigorous amiability . )
It ’ s not a Western , per se ; it @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , in a town on the border of Nebraska and Wyoming , where Bim ( Buck Jones ) , the local layabout ( he says he gets exhausted from watching others work ) , rescues a boy named Bill ( Georgie Stone ) who ’ s thrown off a freight train for hoboing .
In school , Bill is taunted and bullied for his poverty and his association with Bim , his improvised guardian .
Bim loves a schoolteacher , Miss Bruce ( Helen Ferguson ) , but she has been going around @ @ @ @ @ @ @ some high-wire melodramatic turns , involving reward money , white-collar crime , gangland conspiracies , and wild horsemanship ; Ford leavens the action with sardonic satire of supposedly respectable society , its displays of hypocritical virtue under calls for law and order , and the vital energy and steadfast moral—and civic—conscience of those whom it casts aside .
Stream “ Just Pals ” on Amazon , YouTube , and other services .

“Happiness isn’t cheerful,” goes the last line of one of the greatest of movies, Max Ophüls’s “Le Plaisir,” and so it is with comfort movies. They take paradoxical forms: I don’t know many people who are hunkering down with giddy comedies and blithe musicals, however exhilarating and imaginative those might be. Rather, I’m picking up on a search for substance, for movies that have the settled and solid quality of classics (despite the narrow assumptions on which such classicism is based)—movies serious enough for the mood, compelling enough to provide ready distraction, and confident enough to look beyond the troubles that they evoke. Here are some of the movies that I’ve been grateful to watch in the past few stressful days.
The first is all too timely: Allan Dwan’s drama “Driftwood,” from 1947, a recent major rediscovery and restoration under the artistic aegis of Martin Scorsese. It’s the story of a small town in Colorado that’s facing an epidemic of a tick-borne disease—amid a population that refuses to be vaccinated, and under the irresponsible watch of a vain and demagogic mayor who diverts money from a hospital to a park. (The mayor’s son, by the way, is a schoolyard bully.) The nine-year-old Natalie Wood plays an orphan rescued from the wilderness by a young doctor and scientist (Dean Jagger), who’s desperately attempting to overcome local resistance and protect the town from the disease along with a local teacher (Ruth Warrick), whom he loves. Religion plays a major role in the film, too, and it wouldn’t be Hollywood if its role weren’t sentimental; ultimately, science and faith join forces to save the day. It’s a good time to dream optimistically.
Stream “Driftwood” on Amazon.
“American Hot Wax,” from 1978, is a tale of the cultural upheavals of the nineteen-fifties. It’s a narrow-span bio-pic on a huge canvas with a teeming cast, the story (rearranged and sanitized) of the vast achievement and rapid fall of Alan Freed, a famous d.j. and impresario who pushed rock and roll further into the forefront of the mainstream than the mainstream was yet ready to bear—and of the efforts of the authorities to shut down Freed, stop his concerts, and suppress the music. Tim McIntyre gives an astonishingly centered, swinging performance as Freed, imbuing him with a restraint that vibrates with focussed insight, passion, and energy. Freed is surrounded by musicians who fill the movie with onscreen performance, as well as by composers (notably one played by Laraine Newman) and producers who shape it in real time, hustlers looking to exploit the music, and people in the city whose lives the music is changing. It’s a behind-the-scenes story of creating music and creating its historical moment; it’s also a story of the ambient bigotry, racism, sexism, and narrow moralism that dominated public life at the time—the climactic scene involves the police finding pretexts for shutting down a concert featuring Chuck Berry and Jerry Lee Lewis, both of whom deliver exhilarating performances as themselves. The movie is directed by Floyd Mutrux, one of the hidden heroes of the American cinema of the seventies (his films “Dusty and Sweets McGee” and “Aloha, Bobby and Rose” are also streaming); his connection to rock music is at the very core of his work.
Stream “American Hot Wax” on YouTube.
One of the staples of Depression-era Hollywood was the glossily aristocratic romantic comedy set in the pleasure domes of Europe. “The Bride Wore Red,” from 1937, directed by Dorothy Arzner, turns the genre inside-out with acrid insight and theatrical flair. In Trieste, a cynical aristocrat (George Zucco) gives a dive-bar singer and taxi dancer (and, as far as Hollywood at the time could hint, a prostitute) named Anni Pavlovitch (Joan Crawford) a two-week interlude impersonating an aristocratic woman at a swank resort in the Alpine village of Terrano. There, the glamorous and bewitching newly christened Anni Vivaldi, decked out in finery on her benefactor’s expense account, turns the heads of many men—especially the whimsical local postman (the impulsively imaginative Franchot Tone, then Crawford’s real-life husband) and another aristocrat (Robert Young) who’s currently engaged to a woman from his own set (Lynne Carver). After her first taste of wealth—for that matter, her first taste of knowing where her next meal is coming from—Anni has no intention of giving it up, and plots and schemes to marry rich in a big hurry. Arzner—working with a raft of screenwriters (credited and not), including the novelist Tess Slesinger, who adapted a play by Ferenc Molnár—looks with enormous empathy at Anni’s furious desperation, which Crawford embodies with her custom blend of ferocity and yearning. The movie whirls ahead with a wild panoply of twists and wily intrigue; even as Hollywood coincidences and Hollywood sentiment put the recklessly unstable tale on solid ground, the enduring impression is of a sham society that dispenses its rewards to the unworthy.
Stream “The Bride Wore Red” on Amazon and iTunes.
A thought for Italy: Pier Paolo Pasolini, a poet who, in the early sixties, nearing forty, had just begun his movie career, made a documentary that premièred in 1964, “Love Meetings,” in which he travels through Italy and—appearing on camera, microphone in hand, interviews his compatriots about sex. His approach is wide-ranging, frank, insistent, hearty, and wry. He interviews boys about the birds and the bees, talks with girls about whether they have the same freedom as boys, asks beachgoers and soldiers, bourgeois intellectuals and factory workers and businessmen about homosexuality, prostitution, pornography, promiscuity, marriage, divorce, and the sediment of unchallenged traditions. One of the most remarkable sequences features men and women alike, in Sicily, discussing the virtual impossibility of women there participating at all in public life. (A remarkable follow-up to that sequence is Kim Longinotto’s 2019 documentary “Shooting the Mafia,” which isn’t streaming yet—I’ll keep an eye out.) Pasolini’s interspersed discussions with such writers as Alberto Moravia and Oriana Fallaci are both sincere and ironic: their perspectives suggest that the work being done by Pasolini is filling a vast void in Italian cultural life. It’s labor that he takes on joyfully.
Stream “Love Meetings” on Amazon and YouTube.
In 1920, less than two years after the first wave of the influenza pandemic wrought havoc, John Ford made his first movie for the producer William Fox, “Just Pals,” a comedic drama of love for American society’s despised outsiders and of contempt for its snooty moralists. (Ford is here credited as “Jack Ford,” which catches the movie’s breezy manner and vigorous amiability.) It’s not a Western, per se; it’s set in its own time, in a town on the border of Nebraska and Wyoming, where Bim (Buck Jones), the local layabout (he says he gets exhausted from watching others work), rescues a boy named Bill (Georgie Stone) who’s thrown off a freight train for hoboing. In school, Bill is taunted and bullied for his poverty and his association with Bim, his improvised guardian. Bim loves a schoolteacher, Miss Bruce (Helen Ferguson), but she has been going around with a local banker. There are some high-wire melodramatic turns, involving reward money, white-collar crime, gangland conspiracies, and wild horsemanship; Ford leavens the action with sardonic satire of supposedly respectable society, its displays of hypocritical virtue under calls for law and order, and the vital energy and steadfast moral—and civic—conscience of those whom it casts aside.
Stream “Just Pals” on Amazon, YouTube, and other services.


newyorker--2020-03-18--An Economic-History Lesson for Dealing with the Coronavirus

With economists declaring that a recession has already begun , New York City possibly on the verge of issuing a “ shelter in place ” order , and the White House saying that it wants to issue checks directly to all Americans , the coronavirus crisis is breaking new ground by the day .
The vast U.S. economy has been subjected to some enormous shocks before—the Great Crash of 1929 , 9/11 , and the financial crisis of 2008 immediately come to mind—but has there ever been a sudden stop comparable to this ?
When I put this question to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ at the University of California , Berkeley , on Tuesday , he said that he couldn ’ t think of one .
Something that originated as “ supply shock ” in China , just a couple of months ago , has morphed into an unprecedented economic shutdown , remarkable not just for its size but for its rapidity .
Eichengreen , who specializes in economic history and is the author of more than a dozen books , including a highly regarded history of the Great Depression , said that he is working on @ @ @ @ @ @ @ about thirty per cent in the second quarter of 2020 .
That would be unprecedented .
The Great Depression , which began after the stock market crashed in October , 1929 , was wrenching and disastrous , of course .
But Eichengreen pointed out that it developed more gradually than the coronavirus shock .
“ The production of goods and services fell by about a third , but over a period of three-plus years , ” he said .
“ Industrial production fell by half , but , again , over a period @ @ @ @ @ @ @ rose to about one in four , but over four years .
Now what we are talking about is the possibility that the unemployment rate could shoot up very dramatically in a very short period of time.
” According to the New York Times , Treasury Secretary Steven Mnuchin has told congressional Republicans that , absent an aggressive policy response , the jobless rate could reach twenty per cent .
At least in the modern era , the economic impact of other pandemics simply doesn ’ t compare with what is happening now @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , more than half a million Americans died , according to some studies , and certain cities closed restaurants and other public gathering places , in an attempt to halt the spread of the virus .
Eichengreen said that the pandemic “ had a big negative impact on retail sales , ” but , according to the available statistics , the over-all economy didn ’ t fall into a recession .
There was eventually a slump , in 1920-21 , but Eichengreen and other economic historians have typically attributed it to the Federal @ @ @ @ @ @ @ inflation .
Still , Eichengreen insisted that both the 1918 pandemic and the economic cataclysm of the nineteen-thirties had things to teach us in confronting the coronavirus .
In the case of the great flu , he said , “ I draw the lesson that it is really important to do the lockdown in a comprehensive way.
” He pointed out that mortality rates varied from city to city .
Some places , such as St. Louis , reacted aggressively to the crisis and managed to slow the rate of infection .
Other @ @ @ @ @ @ @ too lightly , with disastrous results .
According to one study , Philadelphia ’ s fatality rates at the height of the epidemic were eight times as high as those in St. Louis .
The Great Depression , horrible as it was , served as a giant laboratory experiment for two policy approaches .
As the economy slumped between 1929 and 1932 , the Administration of Herbert Hoover eschewed large-scale efforts to boost federal spending and rescue stricken industries .
Once F.D.R .
took over , in 1933 , he pursued a far @ @ @ @ @ @ @ cash payments to farmers , debt relief for mortgage holders , public-works projects for the unemployed , and low-interest loans to stricken banks and railroads .
The Roosevelt Administration also abandoned the gold standard , so that monetary policy could be relaxed , and eventually introduced a system of unemployment insurance and Social Security .
“ The scholarship on the Great Depression suggests that , when both fiscal and monetary policies , as well as strategic interventions in specific industries , were undertaken , we got stabilization and recovery , ” Eichengreen said @ @ @ @ @ @ @ period , when there was a more piecemeal approach.
” This time last week , Eichengreen feared that , once again , the federal government was failing to rise to the challenge at a critical juncture .
But then the Federal Reserve cut interest rates and rolled out a series of emergency-lending programs .
By Tuesday , when the White House proposed a trillion-dollar rescue package—which would provide cash payments to all American households and financial assistance to businesses devastated by the shutdowns—Eichengreen was a bit more encouraged .
“ There are signs @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , have now recognized the gravity of the situation , ” he said .
“ It looks like the necessary steps have been taken on the monetary side and probably will be taken on the fiscal side.
” That remains to be seen , of course .
The individual elements of the stimulus package have yet to be finalized .
One that is sure to spark some controversy is the proposal to bail out the airlines .
On Tuesday , the Wall Street Journal reported that the Trump Administration wants to give the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
This money will probably be in the form of loans , but will such loans be unsecured , as the airline industry wants ?
Or will they be secured on the carriers ’ assets , such as airplanes and valuable landing slots , so that the government can seize these assets if the loans aren ’ t repaid ?
During the nineteen-thirties , Eichengreen reminded me , the Reconstruction Finance Corporation , an agency that Hoover set up and F.D.R .
greatly expanded , lent money to the banks and the railroads @ @ @ @ @ @ @ poor shape .
“ The loans to the railroads were secured by their rolling stock , ” Eichengreen said .
“ And that would seem to me to be the most appropriate model to follow now.
” Even if the Trump Administration were to take this advice , bailing out the airlines , or other large corporations , could generate a political backlash .
Eichengreen suggested that the popular reaction might not be quite as bitter as it was when the Obama Administration rescued Wall Street , in 2008 and 2009 , because @ @ @ @ @ @ @ proposing substantial assistance for households and small businesses .
Eichengreen thinks that the Trump Administration should consider an additional policy move , which the Italian government recently adopted : suspending mortgage payments and other loan payments .
“ If you lose your car or lose your home through no fault of your own , that is a personal hardship , ” Eichengreen said .
“ But it is also something that will ramify through the rest of the economy.
” The White House would have to force banks and other lenders to go @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
That would represent an additional level of government activism , one that Eichengreen believes the circumstances demand .
“ The U.S. approach to these things has almost always been—it was Herbert Hoover ’ s during the Great Depression—let ’ s ask enlightened bankers to do the right thing and voluntarily forgive late payments and suspend penalties , and so forth , ” he said .
“ Hopefully , we are moving fast in recognizing that voluntarism and enlightened capitalism , while desirable , may not be enough.
” • None How to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a sick housemate to the pros and cons of ordering food .
• None How people cope and create new customs amid a pandemic .
• None What it means to contain and mitigate the coronavirus outbreak .
• None How much of the world is likely to be quarantined ?
• None Donald Trump in the time of coronavirus .
• None The coronavirus is likely to spread for more than a year before a vaccine could be widely available .
• None We are all irrational panic shoppers .
• None @ @ @ @ @ @ @ take Rome .

With economists declaring that a recession has already begun, New York City possibly on the verge of issuing a “shelter in place” order, and the White House saying that it wants to issue checks directly to all Americans, the coronavirus crisis is breaking new ground by the day. The vast U.S. economy has been subjected to some enormous shocks before—the Great Crash of 1929, 9/11, and the financial crisis of 2008 immediately come to mind—but has there ever been a sudden stop comparable to this?
When I put this question to Barry Eichengreen, a professor of economics at the University of California, Berkeley, on Tuesday, he said that he couldn’t think of one. Something that originated as “supply shock” in China, just a couple of months ago, has morphed into an unprecedented economic shutdown, remarkable not just for its size but for its rapidity. Eichengreen, who specializes in economic history and is the author of more than a dozen books, including a highly regarded history of the Great Depression, said that he is working on the assumption that consumer spending will fall about thirty per cent in the second quarter of 2020. That would be unprecedented.
The Great Depression, which began after the stock market crashed in October, 1929, was wrenching and disastrous, of course. But Eichengreen pointed out that it developed more gradually than the coronavirus shock. “The production of goods and services fell by about a third, but over a period of three-plus years,” he said. “Industrial production fell by half, but, again, over a period of three years. The unemployment rate rose to about one in four, but over four years. Now what we are talking about is the possibility that the unemployment rate could shoot up very dramatically in a very short period of time.” According to the New York Times, Treasury Secretary Steven Mnuchin has told congressional Republicans that, absent an aggressive policy response, the jobless rate could reach twenty per cent.
At least in the modern era, the economic impact of other pandemics simply doesn’t compare with what is happening now. During the great flu of 1918, more than half a million Americans died, according to some studies, and certain cities closed restaurants and other public gathering places, in an attempt to halt the spread of the virus. Eichengreen said that the pandemic “had a big negative impact on retail sales,” but, according to the available statistics, the over-all economy didn’t fall into a recession. There was eventually a slump, in 1920-21, but Eichengreen and other economic historians have typically attributed it to the Federal Reserve raising interest rates to head off inflation.
Still, Eichengreen insisted that both the 1918 pandemic and the economic cataclysm of the nineteen-thirties had things to teach us in confronting the coronavirus. In the case of the great flu, he said, “I draw the lesson that it is really important to do the lockdown in a comprehensive way.” He pointed out that mortality rates varied from city to city. Some places, such as St. Louis, reacted aggressively to the crisis and managed to slow the rate of infection. Other cities—for example, Philadelphia—reacted too late and too lightly, with disastrous results. According to one study, Philadelphia’s fatality rates at the height of the epidemic were eight times as high as those in St. Louis.
The Great Depression, horrible as it was, served as a giant laboratory experiment for two policy approaches. As the economy slumped between 1929 and 1932, the Administration of Herbert Hoover eschewed large-scale efforts to boost federal spending and rescue stricken industries. Once F.D.R. took over, in 1933, he pursued a far more activist approach. His Administration provided cash payments to farmers, debt relief for mortgage holders, public-works projects for the unemployed, and low-interest loans to stricken banks and railroads. The Roosevelt Administration also abandoned the gold standard, so that monetary policy could be relaxed, and eventually introduced a system of unemployment insurance and Social Security. “The scholarship on the Great Depression suggests that, when both fiscal and monetary policies, as well as strategic interventions in specific industries, were undertaken, we got stabilization and recovery,” Eichengreen said. “But not in the preceding period, when there was a more piecemeal approach.”
This time last week, Eichengreen feared that, once again, the federal government was failing to rise to the challenge at a critical juncture. But then the Federal Reserve cut interest rates and rolled out a series of emergency-lending programs. By Tuesday, when the White House proposed a trillion-dollar rescue package—which would provide cash payments to all American households and financial assistance to businesses devastated by the shutdowns—Eichengreen was a bit more encouraged. “There are signs that people, including our fearless leaders, have now recognized the gravity of the situation,” he said. “It looks like the necessary steps have been taken on the monetary side and probably will be taken on the fiscal side.”
That remains to be seen, of course. The individual elements of the stimulus package have yet to be finalized. One that is sure to spark some controversy is the proposal to bail out the airlines. On Tuesday, the Wall Street Journal reported that the Trump Administration wants to give the industry fifty billion dollars in financial assistance. This money will probably be in the form of loans, but will such loans be unsecured, as the airline industry wants? Or will they be secured on the carriers’ assets, such as airplanes and valuable landing slots, so that the government can seize these assets if the loans aren’t repaid? During the nineteen-thirties, Eichengreen reminded me, the Reconstruction Finance Corporation, an agency that Hoover set up and F.D.R. greatly expanded, lent money to the banks and the railroads, both of which were in very poor shape. “The loans to the railroads were secured by their rolling stock,” Eichengreen said. “And that would seem to me to be the most appropriate model to follow now.”
Even if the Trump Administration were to take this advice, bailing out the airlines, or other large corporations, could generate a political backlash. Eichengreen suggested that the popular reaction might not be quite as bitter as it was when the Obama Administration rescued Wall Street, in 2008 and 2009, because this time the federal government is also proposing substantial assistance for households and small businesses. Eichengreen thinks that the Trump Administration should consider an additional policy move, which the Italian government recently adopted: suspending mortgage payments and other loan payments. “If you lose your car or lose your home through no fault of your own, that is a personal hardship,” Eichengreen said. “But it is also something that will ramify through the rest of the economy.”
The White House would have to force banks and other lenders to go along with a suspension of loan payments. That would represent an additional level of government activism, one that Eichengreen believes the circumstances demand. “The U.S. approach to these things has almost always been—it was Herbert Hoover’s during the Great Depression—let’s ask enlightened bankers to do the right thing and voluntarily forgive late payments and suspend penalties, and so forth,” he said. “Hopefully, we are moving fast in recognizing that voluntarism and enlightened capitalism, while desirable, may not be enough.”
A Guide to the Coronavirus


newyorker--2020-03-18--In Praise of Phone Calls During the Coronavirus Crisis

Perhaps you ’ ve experienced something like this cycle of emotions recently .
This morning , as I woke up after a few days of isolation , dread , and an incipient sore throat—all of which resulted in an unpleasant stupor of “ Dateline , ” napping , wall-staring , and phone Scrabble—I put my feet on the floor and said to myself , Today is going to be different !
I marched determinedly about my apartment , tidying , making coffee , preparing to work , listening to podcasts .
I felt somewhat optimistic .
But soon I had @ @ @ @ @ @ @ was listening to the news .
( It was Tuesday ’ s stellar episode of “ The Daily , ” in which Michael Barbaro talked to Dr. Fabiano Di Marco , the head of the respiratory unit of a hospital in Bergamo , Italy .
“ It ’ s like a war , ” Di Marco said . )
But my goal , in addition to staying informed , was to be productive , and that would require avoiding my stupor .
So I took my own advice from the piece I was @ @ @ @ @ @ @ loved one on the phone .
I picked up my landline—yes , landline—and called Janet , my late mother ’ s best friend , a retired music teacher who lives on Cape Cod .
Janet had e-mailed to see how I was doing during social isolation , decorating her message with shamrocks and kissy-face emojis .
It was a great e-mail , but I wanted to hear her voice .
“ Sarah !
” Janet said .
She was smiling—I could hear it .
“ Let me put down my chanter.
” She @ @ @ @ @ @ @ St. Patrick ’ s Day , in the time of the coronavirus , and she was preparing for a one-woman parade .
“ I ’ m going to play ‘ The Minstrel Boy ’ and march down the street , ” she said .
“ I ’ ll send you a video.
” Talking to Janet , I could hear the amusement and energy in her voice ; she ’ s always ready to laugh , even now , and she ’ s always up to something .
She talks in vivid anecdotes @ @ @ @ @ @ @ railed against political incompetence , laughed our heads off .
Hanging up , I felt more alive .
I ’ ve wanted to write for a long time about the particular joy of talking on the phone .
Not video chat , though that has its charms .
( Among them , this week : virtual coffees and cocktail hours , Zoom meetings , seeing how your parents look , saying hi to your favorite rambunctious little kid . )
But for sheer connectedness , the phone has something other forms of communication @ @ @ @ @ @ @ few years , I ’ ve harbored a secret theory—that our love of the intimacy of podcasts , of the near-startling pleasure of curling up with the immediacy of a human voice in our ears , is connected to our loss of that pleasure from talking on the phone .
People too young to have grown up doing so tend not to get why you would do it at all .
Suggesting a phone call gets a laugh ; saying that you have a landline gets a polite , reeling covering-up of something @ @ @ @ @ @ @ mine , a few years ago , called his younger date , after some cumbersome texting , to sort out meetup logistics .
She was freaked out .
A phone call ?
“ That ’ s what my dad does , ” she told him .
Then he was freaked out . )
In any case , I get it .
Messaging has overtaken phone calls for good reason—convenience , desirable asynchronicity , privacy , a certain respecting of boundaries .
When you ’ re using your phone primarily as a screen , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Scrabble , Overcast , Instagram , the weather , your camera , a document , Google Keep , and the neurotic bunch of timers you keep for yourself to try to impose structure on your day ( or maybe that ’ s just me ) , having your phone suddenly come alive , vibrating , making noise , being overtaken by the name and image of a gabby relative—in short , turning into a phone—can be jarring .
( Aaah !
What are you doing here ? )
Suddenly , this person is @ @ @ @ @ @ @ phone calls now tend to take place over crappy-sounding technology—tinnier , spottier , less reliable than during the golden era of the phone gab .
It may be hard to remember , under those circumstances , the appeal .
But we all know , instinctively , about the power of the human voice .
You may even have voice mails , left years ago , that you ’ ll never delete .
I have them from loved ones who have died—the “ Hello , dear !
” of my Aunt Adelle , the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
( “ I kind of feel like we ’ re dealing with ethics , and I hate dealing with ethics .
Call me back , bye.
” ) Think of the recent videos from Siena and Wuhan , in which people sing or call out , connecting from windows and balconies during social isolation , across distance , à la the twilight bark in “ 101 Dalmatians.
” This week , I ’ ve been doing that with relatives I ’ ve loved all my life but haven ’ t caught up @ @ @ @ @ @ @ voices coming to me from Santa Barbara , Lubbock , Memphis , Hartford , Barre .
And I ’ ve been doing it with people across town .
The phone calls have reminded me , with new clarity , about the things that are expressed in tone , beyond words .
Last night , I listened to a younger co-worker friend tell me a story he ’ d planned to share over a drink , about a burial he ’ d arranged for an elderly friend who ’ d died .
As he @ @ @ @ @ @ @ d encountered—of a city worker , of volunteers at a Jewish service organization , of the men in the minyan who came to the burial—I could hear a whole bouquet of notes : amazement , respect , quiet gratitude , affection , his own understated kindness .
Before we hung up , I told him I was glad to know him .
A couple of hours later , he called again , for a different kind of bonding : out for a walk on the deserted night streets , he ’ d accidentally @ @ @ @ @ @ @ someone to shudder with .
“ It was soft , ” he said .
We recoiled together , noisily commiserating .
Then , hoping to consolingly redirect the rat energy , I told a story about a time when I ’ d made a yowsers connection myself : scurrying down Mulberry Street , past a gesticulating anecdotalist , I inadvertently caused my own groping .
( “ Was it as good for you ?
” the startled man called after me . )
Roaring about the surprising little revulsions of New York City @ @ @ @ @ @ @ hilarity and empathy and horror—is exactly the stuff of a good gab .
And when you ’ re living in isolation , it ’ s reassuring to make some noise .
If you ’ ve fallen out of the habit , or never had it to begin with , here ’ s what to do .
First , find the best equipment you can : ideally , a real phone .
A landline is optimal , or a cell phone with decent audio , held right up to your ear .
Avoid the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the vulnerable voice bouncing around an open room or , God forbid , an open car .
No screens , no juddering technology or buffering , no contending with the distracting horror of your own disembodied face .
Just voice : mind meeting soul meeting timbre .
Don ’ t have a TV on ; don ’ t have a laptop in front of you .
Sit in a favorite chair and look at your plants and your books .
They are beautiful .
Look out the window , the trees outside .
@ @ @ @ @

Perhaps you’ve experienced something like this cycle of emotions recently. This morning, as I woke up after a few days of isolation, dread, and an incipient sore throat—all of which resulted in an unpleasant stupor of “Dateline,” napping, wall-staring, and phone Scrabble—I put my feet on the floor and said to myself, Today is going to be different! I marched determinedly about my apartment, tidying, making coffee, preparing to work, listening to podcasts. I felt somewhat optimistic. But soon I had tears in my eyes, because I was listening to the news. (It was Tuesday’s stellar episode of “The Daily,” in which Michael Barbaro talked to Dr. Fabiano Di Marco, the head of the respiratory unit of a hospital in Bergamo, Italy. “It’s like a war,” Di Marco said.) But my goal, in addition to staying informed, was to be productive, and that would require avoiding my stupor. So I took my own advice from the piece I was trying to write: I called a loved one on the phone.
I picked up my landline—yes, landline—and called Janet, my late mother’s best friend, a retired music teacher who lives on Cape Cod. Janet had e-mailed to see how I was doing during social isolation, decorating her message with shamrocks and kissy-face emojis. It was a great e-mail, but I wanted to hear her voice. “Sarah!” Janet said. She was smiling—I could hear it. “Let me put down my chanter.” She was practicing her bagpipes; it was St. Patrick’s Day, in the time of the coronavirus, and she was preparing for a one-woman parade. “I’m going to play ‘The Minstrel Boy’ and march down the street,” she said. “I’ll send you a video.” Talking to Janet, I could hear the amusement and energy in her voice; she’s always ready to laugh, even now, and she’s always up to something. She talks in vivid anecdotes. We caught up, gossiped, railed against political incompetence, laughed our heads off. Hanging up, I felt more alive.
I’ve wanted to write for a long time about the particular joy of talking on the phone. Not video chat, though that has its charms. (Among them, this week: virtual coffees and cocktail hours, Zoom meetings, seeing how your parents look, saying hi to your favorite rambunctious little kid.) But for sheer connectedness, the phone has something other forms of communication don’t. For the past few years, I’ve harbored a secret theory—that our love of the intimacy of podcasts, of the near-startling pleasure of curling up with the immediacy of a human voice in our ears, is connected to our loss of that pleasure from talking on the phone. People too young to have grown up doing so tend not to get why you would do it at all. Suggesting a phone call gets a laugh; saying that you have a landline gets a polite, reeling covering-up of something like pity. (A friend of mine, a few years ago, called his younger date, after some cumbersome texting, to sort out meetup logistics. She was freaked out. A phone call? “That’s what my dad does,” she told him. Then he was freaked out.)
In any case, I get it. Messaging has overtaken phone calls for good reason—convenience, desirable asynchronicity, privacy, a certain respecting of boundaries. When you’re using your phone primarily as a screen, flipping between, say, Twitter, Scrabble, Overcast, Instagram, the weather, your camera, a document, Google Keep, and the neurotic bunch of timers you keep for yourself to try to impose structure on your day (or maybe that’s just me), having your phone suddenly come alive, vibrating, making noise, being overtaken by the name and image of a gabby relative—in short, turning into a phone—can be jarring. (Aaah! What are you doing here?) Suddenly, this person is in your house. Beyond that, phone calls now tend to take place over crappy-sounding technology—tinnier, spottier, less reliable than during the golden era of the phone gab. It may be hard to remember, under those circumstances, the appeal.
But we all know, instinctively, about the power of the human voice. You may even have voice mails, left years ago, that you’ll never delete. I have them from loved ones who have died—the “Hello, dear!” of my Aunt Adelle, the mile-a-minute thinking aloud of my friend Michael. (“I kind of feel like we’re dealing with ethics, and I hate dealing with ethics. Call me back, bye.”) Think of the recent videos from Siena and Wuhan, in which people sing or call out, connecting from windows and balconies during social isolation, across distance, à la the twilight bark in “101 Dalmatians.” This week, I’ve been doing that with relatives I’ve loved all my life but haven’t caught up with in a while, their distinctive voices coming to me from Santa Barbara, Lubbock, Memphis, Hartford, Barre. And I’ve been doing it with people across town.
The phone calls have reminded me, with new clarity, about the things that are expressed in tone, beyond words. Last night, I listened to a younger co-worker friend tell me a story he’d planned to share over a drink, about a burial he’d arranged for an elderly friend who’d died. As he described the series of kindnesses he’d encountered—of a city worker, of volunteers at a Jewish service organization, of the men in the minyan who came to the burial—I could hear a whole bouquet of notes: amazement, respect, quiet gratitude, affection, his own understated kindness. Before we hung up, I told him I was glad to know him. A couple of hours later, he called again, for a different kind of bonding: out for a walk on the deserted night streets, he’d accidentally kicked a rat. Now he needed someone to shudder with. “It was soft,” he said. We recoiled together, noisily commiserating. Then, hoping to consolingly redirect the rat energy, I told a story about a time when I’d made a yowsers connection myself: scurrying down Mulberry Street, past a gesticulating anecdotalist, I inadvertently caused my own groping. (“Was it as good for you?” the startled man called after me.) Roaring about the surprising little revulsions of New York City streets—all our shared notes of surprise and hilarity and empathy and horror—is exactly the stuff of a good gab. And when you’re living in isolation, it’s reassuring to make some noise.
If you’ve fallen out of the habit, or never had it to begin with, here’s what to do. First, find the best equipment you can: ideally, a real phone. A landline is optimal, or a cell phone with decent audio, held right up to your ear. Avoid the diffuse echoey sadness of the speakerphone, the vulnerable voice bouncing around an open room or, God forbid, an open car. No screens, no juddering technology or buffering, no contending with the distracting horror of your own disembodied face. Just voice: mind meeting soul meeting timbre. Don’t have a TV on; don’t have a laptop in front of you. Sit in a favorite chair and look at your plants and your books. They are beautiful. Look out the window, the trees outside. Listen to your friend.
Second: the friend. The right friend. A good-laugher friend, a pal-around friend, a rollicking-bear-hug friend. Often, at the beginning of a really good phone call, my best friends and I do a little joyous hollering—ha-HA! There you are! It’s good to hear you!—to voice, in brouhaha form, the happy relief of being together. (The older I get, and the more complicated hanging out with my friends has become, that kind of togetherness feels like a gift.) Usually, these conversations, these in-cahoots, let-it-all-hang-out gabfests, feel like an illicit stealing away of time: a pleasurable combination of life-strategizing and zingers with my friend in L.A., who’s driving through traffic or navigating Gelson’s; or with the friend in Riverdale, who’s walking her lovable three-legged dog; or with the one in Manchester-by-the-Sea, who’s sneaking out to go night-surfcasting after her kids are asleep. Now we’re all in our houses and apartments, trying to stay sane.
That’s it. Find a good phone, focus, and be together. It will do you some good. On the phone, you’re not performing for a camera, or observing your friend and their house. You’re not typing. You can get to essentials with a different, more human part of your brain. At work a week or two ago, we got certain things done efficiently because of conversation. Now, working remotely, a similar efficiency, involving tone, back-and-forth, joking, and brainstorming, can happen on the phone. Boring things are best handled electronically; complex, more abstract things, involving ideas or problem-solving or solace, are better handled with the nuance of voice. People who grew up in a phone-centric age—being fourteen, say, and lugging a rotary phone with a curly cord into a bedroom and closing the door, working up the nerve to call a cute boy, talking to his mother first—understand the phone’s particular immediacy very well. For decades, the phone company’s jingle was “Reach Out and Touch Someone.” Now, for a while, it’s the safest—and best—way to do it.
A Guide to the Coronavirus