latimes--2020-08-27--Dodgers announcer Jaime Jarrín: Chicano Moratorium eyewitness

Before he was honored by the baseball Hall of Fame , before he earned national recognition as the translator for a teenage Fernando Valenzuela , even before he directed the Spanish-language radio coverage and production of the 1984 Los Angeles Olympics , Jaime Jarrín always considered himself a humble street reporter first .
“ I was a newsman , ” said Jarrín , 84 , the Dodgers ’ Spanish-language radio voice for more than six decades .
“ That was my foundation.
” That ’ s also what led him to Whittier Boulevard on the last Saturday morning of August @ @ @ @ @ @ @ home that night , but Jarrín , whose main job was as news director for KWKW-AM , didn ’ t want to miss what he knew would become the defining story of a generation .
The anger and frustration that gave birth to the National Chicano Moratorium Against the Vietnam War had been building for two years , and on this day , Aug. 29 , it drew more than 20,000 people to the streets of East Los Angeles for what began as a peaceful march .
“ I saw the anger among @ @ @ @ @ @ @ his home in San Marino .
“ They were protesting the war .
They were protesting the draft .
They believed that the government was trying to [ prevent ] Chicano youth to go into universities.
” And Jarrín believed he had to be there to document it .
La Opinion , the main Spanish-language newspaper in Los Angeles , had fewer than than 3,000 regular subscribers then , and KMEX , the city ’ s only Spanish-language TV station , was on a UHF channel that required a special antenna to watch @ @ @ @ @ @ @ source of news in the Latino community , which was then mostly Mexican American , and KWKW had one of the largest audiences .
“ It was my duty to be involved in all the affairs of the mejicano community , ” Jarrín said .
He was so involved , so trusted , that the highjacker of a Frontier Airlines flight told authorities he would negotiate only with Jarrín , who was brought to the tarmac by helicopter .
The man let the 56 passengers go .
Among other major new stories he @ @ @ @ @ @ @ John F. Kennedy and Pope John-Paul II ’ s first visit to the U.S. in 1979 .
But the Chicano Moratorium would prove to be among the most memorable — and harrowing — events he covered after Los Angeles County sheriff ’ s deputies , responding to a possible disturbance at the Green Mill liquor store , fired tear gas as part of an aggressive move to break up the marchers .
Before day turned to night , stores had been burned , more than 200 people had been arrested and journalist Ruben @ @ @ @ @ @ @ were wounded and died days later .
Jarrín , naturally , was in the middle of it all .
He was standing with colleague Antonio González across from the Silver Dollar Bar & Cafe when a deputy fired a tear-gas missile into the restaurant , fatally striking Salazar in the head .
The shooting hadn ’ t stopped when Jarrín left the area around Laguna Park — now Ruben F. Salazar Park — around 5 o ’ clock .
He knows that because a bullet struck his car as he sped away .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ he said .
“ They missed my head by 15 inches.
” Jarrín , shaking , made it to Dodger Stadium in time to describe that night ’ s 3-2 loss to the St. Louis Cardinals , one of nearly 4,000 games he called between 1962 and 1984 , when he went 22 years without missing a game .
Months later , he covered another Chicano rights protest in Los Angeles that led to the shooting death of a young protester .
And while some of the details of that day have been @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Jarrín recalled , “ He died there .
His last words , he was saying , ‘ Please don ’ t kill me .
Please don ’ t kill me.
’ ” Jarrín ’ s coverage of the moratorium and its aftermath won him a Golden Mike from the Radio and Television News Assn .
of Southern California .
“ That never happened for a Latino , ” he said .
“ It wasn ’ t a specific division in Spanish .
I was competing with CBS , competing with NBC , all @ @ @ @ @ @ @ was able to win .
He won another one a year later for his coverage of Mexican President Gustavo Díaz Ordaz ’ s meeting with President Nixon in San Clemente ; both trophies are on loan to the Smithsonian Institution .
But those weren ’ t the only Golden Mikes in the Jarrín household since son Jorge , then a helicopter-borne traffic reporter , won one of his own for his play-by-play of an airplane pilot ’ s emergency landing in 1993 .
It is one of six awards the younger Jarrín has @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
“ My dad was my role model , ” he said .
“ He had always been primarily a newsman first and has always taken great pride in that .
“ I remember my dad always telling me , ‘ Just the basics .
Keep it simple .
The how , what , when and where.
’ ” The elder Jarrín went on to be honored with the Ford C. Frick Award for broadcasting by the National Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown , N.Y. , in 1998 , the second Latino @ @ @ @ @ @ @ before that he was presented with La Gran Cruz al Merito in his native Ecuador , the nation ’ s highest civilian honor and the closest thing the country has to knighthood .
That award too is significant because while Jarrín said he was often mistaken for a Mexican during his newsman days , he actually learned his craft in Ecuador , where he covered the national congress and presidential affairs for four years for Radio Quito .
“ That was my foundation , ” he said .
“ So when I came @ @ @ @ @ @ @ I did.
” He had never seen a baseball game before coming to Los Angeles in 1955 , three years before the Dodgers did .
But he was such a good reporter and such a quick learner that William Beaton , then-owner of KWKW , told Jarrín to learn the game because he wanted him to describe it to the station ’ s listeners .
Today Jarrín , the longest-tenured announcer in baseball , has called more games than any other active broadcaster in any language .
Despite his fame , Jarrín , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Dodger games alongside his son on KTNQ-AM , remains both unfailingly polite and humble , traits he has passed on to Jorge .
“ I can never follow my dad ’ s footsteps .
He ’ s done all these great things , ” his son says .
The COVID-19 pandemic has forced the pair to work every game from a booth at Dodger Stadium whether the team is playing home or away .
And that ’ s not the only time they spend together .
After Blanca Jarrín , Jorge ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ 65 years , died last year , Jorge became his father ’ s housemate too , moving back into his childhood bedroom .
“ I missed so many things when he was growing up , ” said Jaime , who traveled with the Dodgers during the summers of his son ’ s youth .
“ So in a way I am paying Jorge now for the time I missed being with him when he grew up .
I really appreciate his company .

Jaime Jarrín, left, with his son and fellow broadcaster, Jorge. Jaime was awarded a Golden Mike for his coverage of Chicano Moratorium-era events.
Before he was honored by the baseball Hall of Fame, before he earned national recognition as the translator for a teenage Fernando Valenzuela, even before he directed the Spanish-language radio coverage and production of the 1984 Los Angeles Olympics, Jaime Jarrín always considered himself a humble street reporter first.
“I was a newsman,” said Jarrín, 84, the Dodgers’ Spanish-language radio voice for more than six decades. “That was my foundation.”
That’s also what led him to Whittier Boulevard on the last Saturday morning of August 1970. The Dodgers were playing at home that night, but Jarrín, whose main job was as news director for KWKW-AM, didn’t want to miss what he knew would become the defining story of a generation.
Advertisement
The anger and frustration that gave birth to the National Chicano Moratorium Against the Vietnam War had been building for two years, and on this day, Aug. 29, it drew more than 20,000 people to the streets of East Los Angeles for what began as a peaceful march.
“I saw the anger among the people,” he remembered from his home in San Marino. “They were protesting the war. They were protesting the draft. They believed that the government was trying to [prevent] Chicano youth to go into universities.”
And Jarrín believed he had to be there to document it. La Opinion, the main Spanish-language newspaper in Los Angeles, had fewer than than 3,000 regular subscribers then, and KMEX, the city’s only Spanish-language TV station, was on a UHF channel that required a special antenna to watch.
That left radio as the main source of news in the Latino community, which was then mostly Mexican American, and KWKW had one of the largest audiences.
“It was my duty to be involved in all the affairs of the mejicano community,” Jarrín said.
He was so involved, so trusted, that the highjacker of a Frontier Airlines flight told authorities he would negotiate only with Jarrín, who was brought to the tarmac by helicopter. The man let the 56 passengers go.
Among other major new stories he covered: the memorial services for President John F. Kennedy and Pope John-Paul II’s first visit to the U.S. in 1979.
Advertisement
But the Chicano Moratorium would prove to be among the most memorable — and harrowing — events he covered after Los Angeles County sheriff’s deputies, responding to a possible disturbance at the Green Mill liquor store, fired tear gas as part of an aggressive move to break up the marchers. Before day turned to night, stores had been burned, more than 200 people had been arrested and journalist Ruben Salazar had been killed. Two others were wounded and died days later.
Jarrín, naturally, was in the middle of it all. He was standing with colleague Antonio González across from the Silver Dollar Bar & Cafe when a deputy fired a tear-gas missile into the restaurant, fatally striking Salazar in the head.
The shooting hadn’t stopped when Jarrín left the area around Laguna Park — now Ruben F. Salazar Park — around 5 o’clock. He knows that because a bullet struck his car as he sped away.
“I was so scared,” he said. “They missed my head by 15 inches.”
Jarrín, shaking, made it to Dodger Stadium in time to describe that night’s 3-2 loss to the St. Louis Cardinals, one of nearly 4,000 games he called between 1962 and 1984, when he went 22 years without missing a game.
Jaime Jarrín at Dodger Stadium in 2017. (Gina Ferazzi / Los Angeles Times)
Months later, he covered another Chicano rights protest in Los Angeles that led to the shooting death of a young protester. And while some of the details of that day have been clouded in the fog of time, Jarrín recalled, “He died there. His last words, he was saying, ‘Please don’t kill me. Please don’t kill me.’ ”
Jarrín’s coverage of the moratorium and its aftermath won him a Golden Mike from the Radio and Television News Assn. of Southern California.
“That never happened for a Latino,” he said. “It wasn’t a specific division in Spanish. I was competing with CBS, competing with NBC, all those huge radio stations. And I was able to win.
“It was muy satisfactoria. I really cherish that.”
He won another one a year later for his coverage of Mexican President Gustavo Díaz Ordaz’s meeting with President Nixon in San Clemente; both trophies are on loan to the Smithsonian Institution. But those weren’t the only Golden Mikes in the Jarrín household since son Jorge, then a helicopter-borne traffic reporter, won one of his own for his play-by-play of an airplane pilot’s emergency landing in 1993. It is one of six awards the younger Jarrín has earned for carrying on the family tradition.
“My dad was my role model,” he said. “He had always been primarily a newsman first and has always taken great pride in that.
“I remember my dad always telling me, ‘Just the basics. Keep it simple. The how, what, when and where.’ ”
The elder Jarrín went on to be honored with the Ford C. Frick Award for broadcasting by the National Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, N.Y., in 1998, the second Latino to receive the prize. Six years before that he was presented with La Gran Cruz al Merito in his native Ecuador, the nation’s highest civilian honor and the closest thing the country has to knighthood.
That award too is significant because while Jarrín said he was often mistaken for a Mexican during his newsman days, he actually learned his craft in Ecuador, where he covered the national congress and presidential affairs for four years for Radio Quito.
“That was my foundation,” he said. “So when I came to this country that’s what I did.”
He had never seen a baseball game before coming to Los Angeles in 1955, three years before the Dodgers did. But he was such a good reporter and such a quick learner that William Beaton, then-owner of KWKW, told Jarrín to learn the game because he wanted him to describe it to the station’s listeners.
Today Jarrín, the longest-tenured announcer in baseball, has called more games than any other active broadcaster in any language.
Despite his fame, Jarrín, now in his sixth season of calling Dodger games alongside his son on KTNQ-AM, remains both unfailingly polite and humble, traits he has passed on to Jorge. “I can never follow my dad’s footsteps. He’s done all these great things,” his son says.
The COVID-19 pandemic has forced the pair to work every game from a booth at Dodger Stadium whether the team is playing home or away. And that’s not the only time they spend together. After Blanca Jarrín, Jorge’s mother and Jaime’s wife of 65 years, died last year, Jorge became his father’s housemate too, moving back into his childhood bedroom.
“I missed so many things when he was growing up,” said Jaime, who traveled with the Dodgers during the summers of his son’s youth. “So in a way I am paying Jorge now for the time I missed being with him when he grew up. I really appreciate his company.
“It’s a bendición.” A blessing. “Una bendición muy grande.”


latimes--2020-08-27--Many California police reform efforts have stalled despite push from George Floyd protests

Three months after the police killing of George Floyd ignited national outrage and filled California streets with protesters , the Legislature is in the final hours of a session that is poised to deliver a much more modest law enforcement reform agenda than many expected .
More than a dozen bills regarding police accountability and oversight were introduced in the weeks after Floyd , a Black man , was killed by a Minneapolis police officer who placed his knee on Floyd ’ s neck in May .
But weeks later , legislators are lukewarm on passing some of those reforms @ @ @ @ @ @ @ external sources — a shortened session due to the coronavirus and the urgency of focusing on wildfires — to fierce opposition from law enforcement unions , which have long been major power players in Sacramento .
Some of the measures that failed to advance include a proposed law to require fellow officers to intervene if they witnessed excessive force , a plan to streamline oversight boards of sheriff ’ s departments and an attempt to further constrict how police use deadly force .
The showing underscores the challenges of sweeping police reform even @ @ @ @ @ @ @ where polls show wide support for some of the measures .
“ Many times you have folks in our world , elected officials , who are there for the photo-op , the press conference , but it when it comes to standing up and doing the real thing , they fade to the shadows , ” said state Sen. Steven Bradford ( D-Gardena ) author of the most controversial remaining measure that would strip bad officers of their badges .
“ They run from police when it comes to standing up to them @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in fear , the threat of the union coming after them.
” Along with Bradford ’ s proposal , legislators may still consider bills that would further expand what police records are made public , place restrictions on when and how rubber bullets and tear gas are used on protesters , and ban chokeholds and carotid restraints .
Legislators have until Monday night to vote on remaining bills , and Gov .
Gavin Newsom must sign those sent to him by the end of September .
Across California , the appetite for reform @ @ @ @ @ @ @ In a recent poll by UC Berkeley ’ s Institute of Governmental Studies , 80 % of respondents favored creating laws that would make it easier to prosecute police officers who use excessive force , 78 % favored banning chokeholds and 70 % favored giving civilians the right to sue officers for misconduct and excessive force .
But with attention focused on the state ’ s myriad other troubles , “ the moment is beginning to close , ” said Melina Abdullah , head of Black Lives Matter Los Angeles , which sponsored @ @ @ @ @ @ @ used the abbreviated session as “ an excuse ” to avoid crossing unions .
Those in law enforcement say their opposition isn ’ t to reform , but to the rushed process that they believe has led to proposals that are faulty and problematic .
They point out that many bills never had the public discussions and floor debates that would happen in a normal session , and contend they were not fully vetted even by their authors .
“ Even under the best circumstances , trying to get something done in six @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , ” said Brian Marvel , head of the statewide Peace Officers Research Assn .
of California .
“ You can ’ t even have sit-down conversations.
” Marvel said that he views the successful recent push back on current measures as “ bittersweet ” because he expects them to come up again next session .
Marvel and others in law enforcement said they still see strong desire at the Capitol for reform .
But he added that he is hopeful a more normal session would lead to a better process .
“ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ we ’ ve had a little bit of success here on the back end of 2020 , but we know we have a lot of work coming in 2021 , ” he said .
Bradford ’ s bill , which squeaked forward Wednesday when it cleared a key Assembly committee , is at the heart of the debate over whether an imperfect change is better than none .
Bradford named the bill after Kenneth Ross , Jr. , a 25-year-old mentally ill man who was shot by a Gardena police officer who had @ @ @ @ @ @ @ while working at another department .
Though Los Angeles County Dist .
Atty .
Jackie Lacey found the shooting justified , video footage calls into question official details .
The family has filed a civil suit .
Bradford , who grew up near the park where the incident occurred and still lives nearby , said the death was “ personal to me ” though he did not know Ross .
Bradford ’ s bill , SB 731 , would create a process that would require all officers in the state to be certified @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and Training , which could also revoke that certification for violations of law .
The bill would also curtail police officers ’ immunity from being financially liable if they are sued for their actions on the job .
Bradford acknowledged during Tuesday ’ s hearing that the bill had flaws , and fielded questions from fellow Democrats on issues around due process and labor rights .
Marvel said his organization , along with most law enforcement , supports a de-certification process but thinks Bradford ’ s bill goes too far in proposing a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ victims of police violence and community organizations .
It also leaves potential conflicts between local entities and the new state structure , and could conflict with contractual provisions and , with the qualified immunity sections , federal rules , some in law enforcement contend .
“ During the current moment in time in our nation ’ s history , I think they are trying to go for a grand slam here , which is unfortunate , ” he said .
But the committee passed the bill for a possible floor vote Monday , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Terrace ) echoing her colleagues when she said , “ It ’ s clear that there will be some unintended consequences , ” from the current wording , but the Legislature could plan on “ future legislation to take care of those things.
” That angered Republican Assemblyman James Gallagher ( R-Yuba City ) , who said he supported a de-certification process but added later , “ Seriously , this is what we are going to accept as good policy making ?
” The bill ’ s successful journey forward highlights that a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ sway to push the remaining legislation , if only to a full vote .
But the fate of reform will largely be determined over the weekend , when , though deadlines for change will expire Friday , backroom negotiations will likely center on whether there is a way to assuage law enforcement ’ s concerns enough to make an aye vote Monday worth the risk — especially in a moment when punting to next year may go unnoticed .
Some activists see a flow of power back toward police unions after an unusual @ @ @ @ @ @ @ shooting of another Black man , Stephon Clark , by Sacramento police upended years of police influence at the state Capitol and led to the passage of a new standard for when California police can kill .
Many hoped the Floyd killing would continue that shift , but instead say police unions have regained their footing .
“ We ’ ve always seen the union exerting itself whenever it came to that wall being chipped at , ” Cephus Johnson , a criminal justice reform advocate whose nephew , Oscar Grant , was @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Area in 2008 .
“ Maybe last year they were caught by surprise .
But last year , we seemed to have a lot more strength.
” “ I am not sure what kind of hit we are going to take , ” he added .
“ I am sure it ’ s going to be an even bigger fight .
”

Three months after the police killing of George Floyd ignited national outrage and filled California streets with protesters, the Legislature is in the final hours of a session that is poised to deliver a much more modest law enforcement reform agenda than many expected.
More than a dozen bills regarding police accountability and oversight were introduced in the weeks after Floyd, a Black man, was killed by a Minneapolis police officer who placed his knee on Floyd’s neck in May.
But weeks later, legislators are lukewarm on passing some of those reforms. Backers blame several factors, from external sources — a shortened session due to the coronavirus and the urgency of focusing on wildfires — to fierce opposition from law enforcement unions, which have long been major power players in Sacramento.
Advertisement
Some of the measures that failed to advance include a proposed law to require fellow officers to intervene if they witnessed excessive force, a plan to streamline oversight boards of sheriff’s departments and an attempt to further constrict how police use deadly force.
The showing underscores the challenges of sweeping police reform even in a liberal state like California, where polls show wide support for some of the measures.
“Many times you have folks in our world, elected officials, who are there for the photo-op, the press conference, but it when it comes to standing up and doing the real thing, they fade to the shadows,” said state Sen. Steven Bradford (D-Gardena) author of the most controversial remaining measure that would strip bad officers of their badges. “They run from police when it comes to standing up to them. This is what has these folks in fear, the threat of the union coming after them.”
Along with Bradford’s proposal, legislators may still consider bills that would further expand what police records are made public, place restrictions on when and how rubber bullets and tear gas are used on protesters, and ban chokeholds and carotid restraints.
Legislators have until Monday night to vote on remaining bills, and Gov. Gavin Newsom must sign those sent to him by the end of September.
Across California, the appetite for reform remains strong though protests have faded. In a recent poll by UC Berkeley’s Institute of Governmental Studies, 80% of respondents favored creating laws that would make it easier to prosecute police officers who use excessive force, 78% favored banning chokeholds and 70% favored giving civilians the right to sue officers for misconduct and excessive force.
But with attention focused on the state’s myriad other troubles, “the moment is beginning to close,” said Melina Abdullah, head of Black Lives Matter Los Angeles, which sponsored the Bradford bill. She believes legislators used the abbreviated session as “an excuse” to avoid crossing unions.
Advertisement
Those in law enforcement say their opposition isn’t to reform, but to the rushed process that they believe has led to proposals that are faulty and problematic. They point out that many bills never had the public discussions and floor debates that would happen in a normal session, and contend they were not fully vetted even by their authors.
“Even under the best circumstances, trying to get something done in six weeks is very tough in the Legislature,” said Brian Marvel, head of the statewide Peace Officers Research Assn. of California. “You can’t even have sit-down conversations.”
Marvel said that he views the successful recent push back on current measures as “bittersweet” because he expects them to come up again next session. Marvel and others in law enforcement said they still see strong desire at the Capitol for reform. But he added that he is hopeful a more normal session would lead to a better process.
“I know that on the one hand we’ve had a little bit of success here on the back end of 2020, but we know we have a lot of work coming in 2021,” he said.
Bradford’s bill, which squeaked forward Wednesday when it cleared a key Assembly committee, is at the heart of the debate over whether an imperfect change is better than none.
Bradford named the bill after Kenneth Ross, Jr., a 25-year-old mentally ill man who was shot by a Gardena police officer who had previously been involved in three other shootings while working at another department. Though Los Angeles County Dist. Atty. Jackie Lacey found the shooting justified, video footage calls into question official details. The family has filed a civil suit. Bradford, who grew up near the park where the incident occurred and still lives nearby, said the death was “personal to me” though he did not know Ross.
Bradford’s bill, SB 731, would create a process that would require all officers in the state to be certified by the Commission on Peace Officer Standards and Training, which could also revoke that certification for violations of law. The bill would also curtail police officers’ immunity from being financially liable if they are sued for their actions on the job. Bradford acknowledged during Tuesday’s hearing that the bill had flaws, and fielded questions from fellow Democrats on issues around due process and labor rights.
Marvel said his organization, along with most law enforcement, supports a de-certification process but thinks Bradford’s bill goes too far in proposing a powerful civilian panel that includes families of victims of police violence and community organizations. It also leaves potential conflicts between local entities and the new state structure, and could conflict with contractual provisions and, with the qualified immunity sections, federal rules, some in law enforcement contend.
“During the current moment in time in our nation’s history, I think they are trying to go for a grand slam here, which is unfortunate,” he said.
But the committee passed the bill for a possible floor vote Monday, with Assemblywoman Eloise Gomez Reyes (D-Grand Terrace) echoing her colleagues when she said, “It’s clear that there will be some unintended consequences,” from the current wording, but the Legislature could plan on “future legislation to take care of those things.”
That angered Republican Assemblyman James Gallagher (R-Yuba City), who said he supported a de-certification process but added later, “Seriously, this is what we are going to accept as good policy making?”
The bill’s successful journey forward highlights that a core of reform-minded Democrats still hold enough sway to push the remaining legislation, if only to a full vote. But the fate of reform will largely be determined over the weekend, when, though deadlines for change will expire Friday, backroom negotiations will likely center on whether there is a way to assuage law enforcement’s concerns enough to make an aye vote Monday worth the risk — especially in a moment when punting to next year may go unnoticed.
Some activists see a flow of power back toward police unions after an unusual year in 2019 when protests around the shooting of another Black man, Stephon Clark, by Sacramento police upended years of police influence at the state Capitol and led to the passage of a new standard for when California police can kill. Many hoped the Floyd killing would continue that shift, but instead say police unions have regained their footing.
“We’ve always seen the union exerting itself whenever it came to that wall being chipped at,” Cephus Johnson, a criminal justice reform advocate whose nephew, Oscar Grant, was killed by transit police in the Bay Area in 2008. “Maybe last year they were caught by surprise. But last year, we seemed to have a lot more strength.”
“I am not sure what kind of hit we are going to take,” he added. “I am sure it’s going to be an even bigger fight.”
Staff writer Kevin Rector contributed to this report.


latimes--2020-08-27--Through doll play, an L.A. therapist reminds Black girls of their innocence

Renee Curry ushered four girls into the classroom and asked them to sit on the carpet .
They were bright-eyed and giggly , jittery with excitement .
Curry emptied the contents of a large reusable shopping bag onto the floor .
The girls , ages 5 to 7 , wasted no time .
They plunged their hands into a pile of tiny plaid skirts , gingham dresses and sparkly tutus , eagerly selecting their dolls ’ first outfits of the day .
“ Grab your doll and we ’ re gon na dress them while we talk , ” Curry @ @ @ @ @ @ @ said as she pulled Black and brown dolls from another bag .
The girls let out a collective shriek and claimed the dolls they ’ d been playing with for the last few weeks .
“ All right , ” Curry said , trying to capture the girls ’ attention as they argued over whose doll was whose .
“ We ’ re going to go around and introduce our dolls.
” A first-grader cradling two babies in her lap went first .
“ This is Mark , ” she said .
“ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ his favorite color is green and his favorite food is broccoli and carrots.
” “ Do your dolls like broccoli and carrots ?
” Renee asked the other girls .
A similar scene played out every Thursday afternoon between August and March in this classroom at Crete Academy , a nonprofit charter school in South Los Angeles that serves students who have experienced homelessness and poverty .
Curry is an associate marriage and family therapist and the architect of In Defense of Girlhood , a therapy group that aims to preserve the innocence @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
The group is a unique attempt to address “ adultification bias ” — a form of racial prejudice that can lead teachers and other authority figures to treat Black girls as more mature than they actually are and , as a result , give them less support or punish them more harshly than their white counterparts , research shows .
This presumption can affect Black girls as young as 5 .
In the case of Crete students , the effects of adultification bias are compounded by poverty ; many of their parents @ @ @ @ @ @ @ multiple jobs , and rely upon their children to help run the household .
So for an hour each week , Curry strives to remind her group of girls that they are , in fact , little girls .
She validates their innocence by celebrating play and encouraging childlike banter .
She cultivates their confidence and nourishes their friendships .
And she has a lot of fun doing it .
Back in the classroom on a chilly November day , the girls continue introducing their dolls .
“ Her name is Coconut Cutie @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” said a second-grader named Ryan .
“ She likes to play at the skating rink.
” “ My doll loves going to the club , ” one girl interrupted .
The others burst into laughter .
“ Going to the club ?
” Curry asked , raising an eyebrow .
“ We ’ ll talk about that later.
” “ Like I was saying , ” Ryan continued , holding her doll under its arms , “ her favorite phone is the iPhone 11 and her favorite pants are sweatpants.
” The @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in spring 2019 , when Curry had just begun giving one-on-one therapy to girls in need of extra support at Crete Academy .
As the executive director of the Center for the Empowerment of Families — a local nonprofit that runs arts and therapy programs for young people who have endured trauma — Curry stays abreast of the latest research on how youths are affected by prejudice .
After reading a paper on adultification bias from the Georgetown Law Center on Poverty and Inequality , she immediately thought of the girls she ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ first study of its kind in 2017 , Georgetown researchers found that adults believed Black girls needed less nurturing and protection , were more independent and knew more about sex than white girls of the same age .
“ Adultification contributes to a false narrative that Black youths ’ transgressions are intentional and malicious , instead of the result of immature decision-making — a key characteristic of childhood , ” researchers wrote .
The study asserted that such bias contributes to the harsher treatment of Black girls in the education and juvenile justice @ @ @ @ @ @ @ opportunities being available to them .
Black girls are nearly six times more likely to be suspended than their white counterparts , according to research by the African American Policy Forum and Columbia Law School .
As a therapist , Curry knew that if children aren ’ t given the time and space to play , imagine , explore and be free of the pressures and stresses of their world , there ’ s a much higher chance that they will be more childlike as adults .
“ They ’ ll struggle with @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , ” Curry said in an interview with The Times .
“ They ’ ll struggle with intimacy .
They ’ ll struggle with having conversations with their partners .
So we want them to experience childhood at appropriate age levels.
” Curry had observed this early abandonment of childhood firsthand .
In 2018 , she helped lead a therapeutic dance program for school-age girls in the Imperial Courts public housing development in Watts .
Instead of engaging in what is traditionally thought of as play , the girls interacted by showing each @ @ @ @ @ @ @ She heard a man in the community casually call one of the girls “ woman.
” When Curry got to Crete , she asked the girls she counseled whether they played with dolls .
Some said they had a doll at home but were sometimes stopped from playing , and were instead told to take care of a younger sibling or to brush their teeth .
One girl said her grandmother sold her doll because her family needed money for rent .
“ Playtime from their perspective was like a privilege , and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ narrative for them , ” Curry said .
When she read the Georgetown study on adultification bias , a light bulb went off .
“ I totally think this is real .
This is a thing , ” Curry told Crete Principal Hattie Mitchell after sharing the study with her .
“ I want to do something.
” Curry ’ s first group of girls were in fourth and fifth grades , ages 9 to 11 .
Some had recently lived in homeless shelters , and their parents , most of whom were @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to life outside a shared space environment .
It was a struggle to get those girls to play with the dolls .
Curry could see in their eyes that they wanted to but were too embarrassed .
They looked to their peers for validation , and no one wanted to be called a baby .
“ I ’ m too old .
I don ’ t play with dolls , ” one 9-year-old said .
Another girl left the room .
Curry felt she needed to try with younger girls .
Research shows @ @ @ @ @ @ @ have better outcomes when started before puberty , which can start as early as 7 .
Mitchell identified a few girls in kindergarten through second grade who she thought would benefit from the group .
They were girls who had already been assigned a social worker because something difficult had happened in their families , events that led to changes in their behavior or academic performance .
Others were overwhelmed by the daily grind of poverty .
“ When you think about a single mom with three kids , what will she buy @ @ @ @ @ @ @ backpack , ” Mitchell said .
“ Toys are last on the list.
” The younger girls were more interested in the dolls .
Curry didn ’ t have to prod them as much to play , which made it easier for her to focus on steering the conversation .
Early on , Curry noticed that girls used their dolls as a way to work through complicated emotions and situations .
During a session in November , one girl told the group that her doll , Tiana , was being bullied at school @ @ @ @ @ @ @ said .
“ What do you do about that ?
How would you feel if you were bullied ?
Has anyone been bullied before ?
” “ I told on him once and he still kept on doing it , ” another said .
The girls dropped the topic to argue over some tiny bluejeans .
Curry redirected them .
“ So , I would like to know — if she says her doll is bullied , can your doll help her ?
” “ Can you show me what that would look @ @ @ @ @ @ @ girl picked up a doll wearing cat-eye glasses and one hot pink soccer cleat and pretended that it was speaking to her friend ’ s doll .
“ If someone pushes you down , I ’ ll help you out , ” she said .
“ If someone says you ’ re ugly , I ’ ll tell them that you ’ re not.
” The girls smiled at each other and forced their dolls to hug , an awkward entanglement of plastic limbs .
In the 2017 study , “ Girlhood Interrupted @ @ @ @ @ @ @ A & M University and Rebecca Epstein of Georgetown University examined how adults perceived the innocence — or lack thereof — of Black girls specifically .
The report was built on earlier research that found Black boys as young as 10 are far more likely than their white peers to be seen as older , guilty of suspected crimes , and face police violence if accused of a crime .
Blake had spent years looking at the experiences of Black girls in the education system .
She saw that they were often over-suspended @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , and she suspected that the pattern was tied to racist stereotypes of Black women as overly sexual , angry and aggressive .
“ Then I thought , in order to map those stereotypes onto girls , people must be seeing them as women , not children , ” Blake said in an interview .
In a follow-up study in 2019 , Blake and Epstein drew on interviews with Black women and girls across the U.S. to learn more about how they experienced adultification bias .
Participants drew a connection between their own @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and children , who were not often able to play and were punished for acting their age .
“ The slave trade [ demanded ] that Black girls be adults and hold the sexual fantasies of the master , ” one woman , now in her 30s , told researchers .
“ We had to cook , we had to clean , we had to pick the cotton… .
This was about commodification.
” One participant described a traffic stop in which a police officer refused to believe that she was 15 years @ @ @ @ @ @ @ her , insisting she was too old to not carry an ID .
These anecdotes hit close to home for Curry .
She recalled receiving less compassion from teachers at her elementary schools in the Carthay and Larchmont neighborhoods of Los Angeles .
There were times when teachers could have asked Curry if she was OK , like when her parents separated , but they didn ’ t .
“ The assumption was : These girls can take care of themselves , ” she said .
Adultification bias can be unknowingly enforced by @ @ @ @ @ @ @ they seek to counteract it , according to anecdotes collected in the 2019 Georgetown report .
Participants shared that their mothers in particular instilled in them maturity , strength and independence in order to ensure that they would thrive despite the racism and inequity they would surely encounter , the researchers wrote .
That being said , Blake said , Black girls are subject to adultification bias regardless of their home lives or whether they mimic grown-up behaviors .
“ No matter what your skin color , a 7-year-old ’ s brain is @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Epstein said .
“ Our systems have to treat children as children.
” While the long-term effects the doll group might have on the girls are unknown , Curry said , she witnessed a lot of growth during their seven months together .
Curry watched the girls ’ imaginations expand .
The stories they shared about the lives of their dolls became more nuanced and vulnerable , and they began to speak more candidly of family dynamics .
Mitchell noticed that the girls would hold hands and throw their arms around one another @ @ @ @ @ @ @ them doing in other social groups .
“ There ’ s a sense of connection and stability and security that wasn ’ t there before , ” Mitchell said in March .
“ For the moments that they ’ re in the group , their guard is down .
They ’ re not acting cool .
They ’ re just being kids .
“ For that hour , the world is a perfect place.
” During one of the last sessions in March before Los Angeles schools closed in response to the COVID-19 @ @ @ @ @ @ @ pushed the palms of her hands into her doll ’ s chest as it lay on the ground , performing CPR .
“ By the way , ” the girl said to the doll , “ you are never spending time with your boyfriend again .
Cuz that ’ s how you got sick.
” “ Can we stop talking about boyfriends ?
That ’ s uncomfortable , ” another girl said .
The topic of boyfriends came up often , and Curry never missed an opportunity to steer the discussion in a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ girls see themselves and their place in the world .
“ What should little girls talk about ?
” Curry asked the group .
“ Dogs !
” one girl exclaimed , setting a plastic waffle on a flowery pink plate next to her doll .
Everyone giggled except Ryan .
She pondered the question seriously .
“ Movies , the future and what you wan na be when you grow up , ” she said .
Ryan ’ s answer prompted a discussion about the girls ’ career aspirations : A tattoo @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
Someone who helps homeless people .
“ That ’ s very nice , ” Curry said .
“ There ’ s lots of good stuff ahead for all of you .
”

Renee Curry, a therapist, leads a group of girls at South L.A.’s Crete Academy, which serves students dealing with homelessness and poverty.
Renee Curry ushered four girls into the classroom and asked them to sit on the carpet. They were bright-eyed and giggly, jittery with excitement.
Curry emptied the contents of a large reusable shopping bag onto the floor. The girls, ages 5 to 7, wasted no time. They plunged their hands into a pile of tiny plaid skirts, gingham dresses and sparkly tutus, eagerly selecting their dolls’ first outfits of the day.
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“Grab your doll and we’re gonna dress them while we talk,” Curry, now seated on the rug, said as she pulled Black and brown dolls from another bag. The girls let out a collective shriek and claimed the dolls they’d been playing with for the last few weeks.
“All right,” Curry said, trying to capture the girls’ attention as they argued over whose doll was whose. “We’re going to go around and introduce our dolls.”
A first-grader cradling two babies in her lap went first. “This is Mark,” she said. “He’s 1 year old, his favorite color is green and his favorite food is broccoli and carrots.”
“Do your dolls like broccoli and carrots?” Renee asked the other girls.
“No!” they yelled in unison.
A similar scene played out every Thursday afternoon between August and March in this classroom at Crete Academy, a nonprofit charter school in South Los Angeles that serves students who have experienced homelessness and poverty.
Curry is an associate marriage and family therapist and the architect of In Defense of Girlhood, a therapy group that aims to preserve the innocence of young Black girls through doll play.
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The group is a unique attempt to address “adultification bias” — a form of racial prejudice that can lead teachers and other authority figures to treat Black girls as more mature than they actually are and, as a result, give them less support or punish them more harshly than their white counterparts, research shows.
This presumption can affect Black girls as young as 5. In the case of Crete students, the effects of adultification bias are compounded by poverty; many of their parents are single, working night shifts or multiple jobs, and rely upon their children to help run the household.
So for an hour each week, Curry strives to remind her group of girls that they are, in fact, little girls. She validates their innocence by celebrating play and encouraging childlike banter. She cultivates their confidence and nourishes their friendships.
And she has a lot of fun doing it.
Back in the classroom on a chilly November day, the girls continue introducing their dolls.
“Her name is Coconut Cutie and her last name is Sunny,” said a second-grader named Ryan. “She likes to play at the skating rink.”
“My doll loves going to the club,” one girl interrupted. The others burst into laughter.
“Going to the club?” Curry asked, raising an eyebrow. “We’ll talk about that later.”
“Like I was saying,” Ryan continued, holding her doll under its arms, “her favorite phone is the iPhone 11 and her favorite pants are sweatpants.”
::
The seeds for the doll group were planted in spring 2019, when Curry had just begun giving one-on-one therapy to girls in need of extra support at Crete Academy.
As the executive director of the Center for the Empowerment of Families — a local nonprofit that runs arts and therapy programs for young people who have endured trauma — Curry stays abreast of the latest research on how youths are affected by prejudice. After reading a paper on adultification bias from the Georgetown Law Center on Poverty and Inequality, she immediately thought of the girls she’d been working with.
Renee Curry’s therapy group addresses “adultification bias,” a form of racial prejudice that treats Black girls as more mature than they are. As a result, the girls are targeted for harsher punishment and less nurturing than their white counterparts. (Gabriella Angotti-Jones / Los Angeles Times)
In the first study of its kind in 2017, Georgetown researchers found that adults believed Black girls needed less nurturing and protection, were more independent and knew more about sex than white girls of the same age.
“Adultification contributes to a false narrative that Black youths’ transgressions are intentional and malicious, instead of the result of immature decision-making — a key characteristic of childhood,” researchers wrote.
The study asserted that such bias contributes to the harsher treatment of Black girls in the education and juvenile justice systems, and fewer mentorship and leadership opportunities being available to them. Black girls are nearly six times more likely to be suspended than their white counterparts, according to research by the African American Policy Forum and Columbia Law School.
As a therapist, Curry knew that if children aren’t given the time and space to play, imagine, explore and be free of the pressures and stresses of their world, there’s a much higher chance that they will be more childlike as adults.
“They’ll struggle with responsibilities to take care of their own,” Curry said in an interview with The Times. “They’ll struggle with intimacy. They’ll struggle with having conversations with their partners. So we want them to experience childhood at appropriate age levels.”
Curry had observed this early abandonment of childhood firsthand.
In 2018, she helped lead a therapeutic dance program for school-age girls in the Imperial Courts public housing development in Watts. Instead of engaging in what is traditionally thought of as play, the girls interacted by showing each other Instagram posts and YouTube videos. She heard a man in the community casually call one of the girls “woman.”
When Curry got to Crete, she asked the girls she counseled whether they played with dolls. Some said they had a doll at home but were sometimes stopped from playing, and were instead told to take care of a younger sibling or to brush their teeth. One girl said her grandmother sold her doll because her family needed money for rent.
“Playtime from their perspective was like a privilege, and so I just wanted to change that narrative for them,” Curry said.
When she read the Georgetown study on adultification bias, a light bulb went off.
“I totally think this is real. This is a thing,” Curry told Crete Principal Hattie Mitchell after sharing the study with her. “I want to do something.”
::
Curry’s first group of girls were in fourth and fifth grades, ages 9 to 11.
Some had recently lived in homeless shelters, and their parents, most of whom were running the households alone, were adapting to life outside a shared space environment.
It was a struggle to get those girls to play with the dolls. Curry could see in their eyes that they wanted to but were too embarrassed. They looked to their peers for validation, and no one wanted to be called a baby.
“I’m too old. I don’t play with dolls,” one 9-year-old said. Another girl left the room.
Curry felt she needed to try with younger girls. Research shows that creative interventions such as play therapy have better outcomes when started before puberty, which can start as early as 7.
Mitchell identified a few girls in kindergarten through second grade who she thought would benefit from the group. They were girls who had already been assigned a social worker because something difficult had happened in their families, events that led to changes in their behavior or academic performance. Others were overwhelmed by the daily grind of poverty.
“When you think about a single mom with three kids, what will she buy? Food and clothes. Shoes and backpack,” Mitchell said. “Toys are last on the list.”
The younger girls were more interested in the dolls. Curry didn’t have to prod them as much to play, which made it easier for her to focus on steering the conversation.
Crete Academy students groom their dolls during a group therapy session. For some girls, “playtime ... was like a privilege, and so I just wanted to change that narrative for them,” therapist Renee Curry says. (Gabriella Angotti-Jones / Los Angeles Times)
(Gabriella Angotti-Jones / Los Angeles Times)
Early on, Curry noticed that girls used their dolls as a way to work through complicated emotions and situations.
During a session in November, one girl told the group that her doll, Tiana, was being bullied at school.
“Uh oh,” Curry said. “ What do you do about that? How would you feel if you were bullied? Has anyone been bullied before?”
“Me!” one girl yelled.
“I told on him once and he still kept on doing it,” another said.
The girls dropped the topic to argue over some tiny bluejeans. Curry redirected them.
“So, I would like to know — if she says her doll is bullied, can your doll help her?”
“Yes!” they yelled in chorus.
“Can you show me what that would look like?” Curry asked.
One girl picked up a doll wearing cat-eye glasses and one hot pink soccer cleat and pretended that it was speaking to her friend’s doll.
“If someone pushes you down, I’ll help you out,” she said. “If someone says you’re ugly, I’ll tell them that you’re not.” The girls smiled at each other and forced their dolls to hug, an awkward entanglement of plastic limbs.
::
In the 2017 study, “Girlhood Interrupted,” researchers Jamilia Blake of Texas A&M University and Rebecca Epstein of Georgetown University examined how adults perceived the innocence — or lack thereof — of Black girls specifically. The report was built on earlier research that found Black boys as young as 10 are far more likely than their white peers to be seen as older, guilty of suspected crimes, and face police violence if accused of a crime.
Blake had spent years looking at the experiences of Black girls in the education system. She saw that they were often over-suspended and treated more punitively than other students, and she suspected that the pattern was tied to racist stereotypes of Black women as overly sexual, angry and aggressive.
“Then I thought, in order to map those stereotypes onto girls, people must be seeing them as women, not children,” Blake said in an interview.
In a follow-up study in 2019, Blake and Epstein drew on interviews with Black women and girls across the U.S. to learn more about how they experienced adultification bias. Participants drew a connection between their own experiences and the treatment of enslaved women and children, who were not often able to play and were punished for acting their age.
“The slave trade [demanded] that Black girls be adults and hold the sexual fantasies of the master,” one woman, now in her 30s, told researchers. “We had to cook, we had to clean, we had to pick the cotton…. This was about commodification.”
One participant described a traffic stop in which a police officer refused to believe that she was 15 years old. The officer handcuffed and fingerprinted her, insisting she was too old to not carry an ID.
These anecdotes hit close to home for Curry. She recalled receiving less compassion from teachers at her elementary schools in the Carthay and Larchmont neighborhoods of Los Angeles.
There were times when teachers could have asked Curry if she was OK, like when her parents separated, but they didn’t. “The assumption was: These girls can take care of themselves,” she said.
Adultification bias can be unknowingly enforced by the parents of Black girls even as they seek to counteract it, according to anecdotes collected in the 2019 Georgetown report. Participants shared that their mothers in particular instilled in them maturity, strength and independence in order to ensure that they would thrive despite the racism and inequity they would surely encounter, the researchers wrote.
That being said, Blake said, Black girls are subject to adultification bias regardless of their home lives or whether they mimic grown-up behaviors.
“No matter what your skin color, a 7-year-old’s brain is a 7-year-old’s brain,” Epstein said. “Our systems have to treat children as children.”
::
While the long-term effects the doll group might have on the girls are unknown, Curry said, she witnessed a lot of growth during their seven months together.
Curry watched the girls’ imaginations expand. The stories they shared about the lives of their dolls became more nuanced and vulnerable, and they began to speak more candidly of family dynamics.
Mitchell noticed that the girls would hold hands and throw their arms around one another — things she didn’t see them doing in other social groups.
Crete Academy Principal Hattie Mitchell says she noticed a genuine affection bloom among the girls who participated in doll play therapy. (Gabriella Angotti-Jones / Los Angeles Times)
“There’s a sense of connection and stability and security that wasn’t there before,” Mitchell said in March. “For the moments that they’re in the group, their guard is down. They’re not acting cool. They’re just being kids.
“For that hour, the world is a perfect place.”
A Crete Academy student pauses for a visualization exercise during her group therapy session. (Gabriella Angotti-Jones / Los Angeles Times)
While the long-term effects of the doll group are unknown, the therapist says, she witnessed a lot of growth among the girls during their seven months together. (Gabriella Angotti-Jones / Los Angeles Times)
During one of the last sessions in March before Los Angeles schools closed in response to the COVID-19 pandemic, a first-grader in the group pushed the palms of her hands into her doll’s chest as it lay on the ground, performing CPR.
“By the way,” the girl said to the doll, “you are never spending time with your boyfriend again. Cuz that’s how you got sick.”
“Can we stop talking about boyfriends? That’s uncomfortable,” another girl said.
The topic of boyfriends came up often, and Curry never missed an opportunity to steer the discussion in a way that revealed something about how the girls see themselves and their place in the world.
“What should little girls talk about?” Curry asked the group.
“Dogs!” one girl exclaimed, setting a plastic waffle on a flowery pink plate next to her doll.
“And boyfriends!” another girl called out.
Everyone giggled except Ryan. She pondered the question seriously. “Movies, the future and what you wanna be when you grow up,” she said.
Ryan’s answer prompted a discussion about the girls’ career aspirations: A tattoo artist. A gymnast. An engineer. Someone who helps homeless people.
“That’s very nice,” Curry said. “There’s lots of good stuff ahead for all of you.”


latimes--2020-08-27--Watch the L.A. Times Chicano Moratorium forum live

Watch the L.A. Times Chicano Moratorium forum live on Thursday starting at 7 p.m .
Hosted by editor Steve Padilla , the community forum revisits the Chicano Moratorium , an anti-Vietnam War march held 50 years ago this month that played a pivotal role in the fight for civil rights in Los Angeles .
The forum will be livestreaming at the L.A. Times Facebook page , YouTube and Twitter .
Guests will include reporters Daniel Hernandez and Carolina A. Miranda , and former Times investigative reporter Robert J. Lopez .
They are among a team of writers , editors , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of stories about the legacy of the Chicano Moratorium .
Readers are invited to share their questions in advance of the forum on Twitter @ latimes , Facebook or by email to .
On Aug. 29 , 1970 , at least 20,000 demonstrators marched through East Los Angeles to protest the disproportionate number of Mexican American service members dying in Vietnam .
The National Chicano Moratorium Against the Vietnam War started out peacefully .
But that afternoon a minor disturbance touched off skirmishes between demonstrators and law enforcement .
By day ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ trailblazing Latino journalist Ruben Salazar was dead .
The Times project explores the significant and lasting impact of that day and tells the stories of demonstrators who later became leaders in politics , business and the arts .
The series also revisits the Chicana rights movement , the young women who grew disillusioned with the Brown Berets and formed their own group .
The entire project is here .

Watch the L.A. Times Chicano Moratorium forum live on Thursday starting at 7 p.m.
Hosted by editor Steve Padilla, the community forum revisits the Chicano Moratorium, an anti-Vietnam War march held 50 years ago this month that played a pivotal role in the fight for civil rights in Los Angeles.
The forum will be livestreaming at the L.A. Times Facebook page, YouTube and Twitter. Guests include reporters Daniel Hernandez and Carolina A. Miranda, and former Times investigative reporter Robert J. Lopez.
(Ken Kwok/Los Angeles Times)
They are among a team of writers, editors, photographers and others who created a series of stories about the legacy of the Chicano Moratorium.
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Readers are invited to share their questions in advance of the forum on Twitter @latimes, Facebook or by email to steven.padilla@latimes.com .
On Aug. 29, 1970, at least 20,000 demonstrators marched through East Los Angeles to protest the disproportionate number of Mexican American service members dying in Vietnam.
The National Chicano Moratorium Against the Vietnam War started out peacefully. But that afternoon a minor disturbance touched off skirmishes between demonstrators and law enforcement. By day’s end two people were mortally wounded and trailblazing Latino journalist Ruben Salazar was dead.
The Times project explores the significant and lasting impact of that day and tells the stories of demonstrators who later became leaders in politics, business and the arts. The series also revisits the Chicana rights movement, the young women who grew disillusioned with the Brown Berets and formed their own group. The entire project is here.


latimes--2020-08-27--Workers and customers are catching COVID-19. Should businesses escape blame?

Henry Ephriam landed in the hospital , terrified and suffering from chest pains , one of 125 workers at the Ralphs grocery chain ’ s Compton warehouse who were sickened with COVID-19 .
Maria Pilar Ornelas struggled to breathe with a fever of 103.7 .
One of more than 180 workers at a Central Valley slaughterhouse who tested positive for the coronavirus , she says her supervisor told her to come to work anyway .
In Glendale , the wife and children of 77-year-old Ricardo Saldana say he died after nursing home staff were told not to wear masks and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ caught the virus .
Five died .
Warehouse workers .
Meatpackers .
Nursing home residents .
Cruise ship passengers .
With infections in California surging past 680,000 and deaths topping 12,400 , COVID-19-related lawsuits have begun to hit federal and state courts .
Businesses fear being blamed for the virus ’ spread .
They are mounting fierce campaigns in Congress and statehouses for measures to protect them from lawsuits over infections , hospitalizations and deaths related to the pandemic .
Since the virus took hold , many employers have been under siege , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , inadequate protective supplies and a lack of transparency when workers are infected .
Customers also feel endangered when safety rules are poorly enforced .
“ Relief from costly litigation could truly mean the difference between employers opening their doors and workers returning to work , or being forced to shutter their businesses permanently , ” the California Chamber of Commerce and 24 industry groups wrote to congressional leaders last month .
As yet , there is no tidal wave of COVID-related litigation — and may never be , given the hurdle of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ At work ?
In the supermarket ?
On a sidewalk ?
And juries may be forgiving if employers argue they have tried to comply with shifting government guidelines .
But U.S. Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell ( R-Ky. ) has predicted “ an avalanche ” of litigation and “ the biggest trial lawyer bonanza in history.
” And Republicans are pushing for a sweeping liability shield dubbed the Safe to Work Act , a measure that consumer groups staunchly oppose .
The issue is a sticking point in stalled negotiations between the Trump @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to extend billions of dollars in federal unemployment benefits and relief for state and local governments .
In California , plaintiffs have filed more than 550 lawsuits as a result of the pandemic , according to a widely cited tracker by the law firm Hunton Andrews Kurth .
So far , most involve such matters as companies ’ disputes with insurers , including one by the renowned Napa Valley restaurateur Thomas Keller .
Or small businesses taking banks to court over missing out on rescue loans .
Or students filing complaints against universities @ @ @ @ @ @ @ events ticket holders are suing to get their money back , as are airline and amusement park customers .
Fewer than 50 involve the kinds of claims for personal injury , wrongful death or inadequate safety measures that the proposed federal liability shield addresses .
“ Under current law , if businesses take reasonable steps to protect workers and customers , they are protected from lawsuits , ” said Jacqueline Serna , deputy legislative director for the trade association Consumer Attorneys of California .
But the GOP congressional bill , she said , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ state laws for a coronavirus-related personal injury claim .
It preempts California laws meant to protect workers against gross negligence , willful misconduct , nuisance , disability , civil rights , assault , battery , fraudulent concealment — you name it.
” Corporations have already seen some success : A dozen states have enacted liability protections for business generally .
And in at least 20 states , hospitals , nursing homes and healthcare providers are now immune from most coronavirus-related lawsuits .
California has not adopted any COVID-19 liability measures .
Nor are @ @ @ @ @ @ @ International Union filed suit Aug. 20 against Riverside Community Hospital and its owner , HCA Healthcare in Tennessee , on behalf of three employees who contracted COVID-19 and the daughter of another who died of the disease .
Lawsuits involving grocery chains and warehouses that employ thousands of essential workers are among the most closely watched .
In the San Joaquin Valley , 52 workers at a Safeway facility were sickened , prompting a suit by the widow of one who died .
In San Francisco , a picker who fills orders at @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
And Walmart is the target of COVID-19 claims in Chicago and Dallas .
A class action filed last month on behalf of some 800 workers at a Ralphs warehouse in Compton reveals how contentious — and how personal — safety issues have become in the coronavirus era .
On May 11 , Ephriam , a 37-year-old receiver who handles incoming goods , took a short nap after his shift and woke up with a 104-degree fever .
The day before , the facility had announced that a single worker had tested positive @ @ @ @ @ @ @ an isolated incident , ” according to the suit filed in Los Angeles County Superior Court .
As his symptoms worsened , Ephriam said , he notified Ralphs of 20 employees with whom he ’ d worked closely , but the company contacted just five — an assertion Ralphs disputes .
Within weeks , more than 100 workers were infected .
At the hospital , doctors sought to put Ephriam on a ventilator .
He refused , fearing side effects , and was released in four days .
Meanwhile , he said , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ His fiancée , who was nursing their 7-month-old baby , fell ill .
In the suit , Ephriam and seven other plaintiffs say Ralphs took a “ cavalier attitude ” toward the pandemic , failing to provide enough masks , gloves or hand sanitizer , forcing employees to work close together and making them touch the same pad when clocking in .
“ It was terrifying , ” Ephriam said .
“ But management played it like it was no big deal .
They didn ’ t care.
” Ephriam and his fiancée @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , Crescencio Perera , also fell severely ill and infected his family , the suit said .
Perera ’ s wife , daughter , brother , nephew and father-in-law came down with COVID-19 , and his father-in-law died .
Even now , the plaintiffs say , shared computers lack plastic keyboard covers to facilitate cleaning , shared scanner guns are not sanitized between shifts , temperature checks are spotty and social distancing rules are not enforced .
In a court response , Ralphs said it has complied with all government guidelines , adding @ @ @ @ @ @ @ suit are “ a laundry list of amorphous demands and draconian requirements.
” It said that Ephriam provided just seven names of co-workers and that the company contacted all of them .
“ Ralphs posted reminders about social distancing as soon as the CDC recommended it , ” the company said .
And it cited surveillance footage showing Ephriam failing to wear a mask before his diagnosis and hugging two co-workers .
But Ephriam contends he and others were not distancing or wearing masks at the time because Ralphs had not advised them @ @ @ @ @ @ @ revealed that the virus was circulating at the warehouse .
“ They had nothing in place telling us what we should or shouldn ’ t be doing , ” he said .
Similar safety complaints are the focus of a class-action suit on behalf of 750 employees of Central Valley Meat Co. , the nation ’ s seventh-largest beef packer .
In early April , Ornelas , a 41-year-old quality control inspector , and her colleagues heard the virus had infected co-workers at the Hanford , Calif. , slaughterhouse .
“ But supervisors @ @ @ @ @ @ @ it ’ s just a rumor , ’ ” she said .
By then meatpackers across the country , working elbow to elbow cutting carcasses on fast-paced assembly lines , were getting sick by the thousands .
In Los Angeles County , infections at a Farmer John pork processor had taken off in March , an outbreak that would eventually sicken at least 254 workers .
At Central Valley Meat , it wasn ’ t until workers posted news of their illness on Facebook that the company acknowledged the virus had spread in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ suit filed last month .
Chief Executive Brian Coelho , whose family owns the privately held company , did not respond to multiple phone calls and emails .
Central Valley Meat lawyers have yet to respond to the complaint .
Ornelas , who fell ill April 23 , is still suffering .
“ I wake up and the next thing you know it ’ s just horrible .
Headache , fever , chest pains , stomach problems.
” She wiped away tears .
“ I was a person who didn ’ t believe @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ But now I ’ m like , I just should have died .
I want to give up.
” Ornelas brought the virus home to Pete Mabie , her partner .
At the breakfast table , a carton of milk fell out of his hands .
He started dropping things at the lumberyard where he works .
He was hospitalized three times .
“ I get electric shocks in my hands and feet , ” he said .
“ The doctors say the virus caused nerve damage or a mini-stroke.
” Since @ @ @ @ @ @ @ $ 14.25-an-hour job three times , spurred by what she said was a threat of termination .
But each time she felt too ill to continue .
She has no health insurance , and her medical bills amount to hundreds of dollars .
Ornelas ’ attorney , Aaron Olsen , said Central Valley Meat programs offering extra pay for perfect attendance and meting out discipline points for absences encouraged sick workers to stay on the job , violating guidelines for companies issued by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention .
Although the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ has posted signs urging social distancing , Ornelas said that when she returned in June , plastic curtains that had been hung between workers were down .
“ People were shoulder to shoulder again , ” she said .
“ They had masks but weren ’ t wearing them.
” A federal liability shield would make it harder for lawsuits filed by Ephriam , Ornelas and other workers to succeed .
It could also protect cruise ship lines and nursing homes , industries with some of the nation ’ s highest infection rates @ @ @ @ @ @ @ exposed to the virus on cruise ships have filed a slew of lawsuits , including four California class actions against Carnival Corp. on behalf of some 2,400 passengers .
The company drew worldwide publicity in March after state officials , learning the virus was circulating on its Grand Princess vessel , at first refused to allow it to dock .
A Placer County man who had traveled on the ship was California ’ s first known COVID-19 fatality .
And 33 others had tested positive .
After five days stranded off San Francisco @ @ @ @ @ @ @ disembark , with hundreds forced into a 14-day quarantine at military bases .
Carnival “ chose to place profits over people , including the safety of their passengers , crew , and the general public , ” according to a class action filed in federal court in April by Robert Archer , a San Francisco retiree , and 61 other passengers who were hospitalized with COVID-19 or suffered severe symptoms as well as “ anguish , fright , horror.
” According to the complaint , which asks for $ 5 million in damages @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ gross negligence ” in allowing some 2,000 passengers to board the ship in February and socialize unhindered without warning them that about 1,000 staff and travelers , still on board from a previous leg of the trip , had been exposed to the virus .
Carnival spokesman Roger Frizzell declined to comment on the litigation but said in an email , “ Our top priorities are compliance , environmental protection and the health , safety and well-being of our guests and crew members.
” The company has “ created a new senior @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ethics officer , ” he said .
Like cruise lines , nursing homes are a target of coronavirus-related consumer suits .
In California , more than 4,900 residents and staff at elder care facilities have died of COVID-19 , about 40 % of the state ’ s total fatalities .
Throughout California , 1,120 skilled nursing homes and 301 assisted-living facilities have reported outbreaks .
In a lawsuit against Glenhaven Healthcare , Saldana ’ s family says that the Glendale facility “ went so far as to lock up protective equipment that the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a result , the virus ran rampant.
” The complaint , filed in Los Angeles County Superior Court , said the nursing home concealed the fact that an employee exposed to the virus had spent two weeks interacting with staff and residents .
And it says an exposed resident was moved into Saldana ’ s room without informing him or his family .
The nursing home said its staff followed health guidelines from local and federal authorities .
“ We can definitively say that Glenhaven Healthcare heroes put our patients first every day @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
Last month , the facility ’ s attorneys sought to move the lawsuit to federal court , saying that a 2005 U.S. emergency preparedness law grants it immunity from elder-abuse , negligence and wrongful-death claims .
The complaint fails to establish that Saldana died as a result of any misconduct , they wrote in a July 31 filing , adding : “ information about the novel coronavirus ... and how to prevent its spread was ... constantly evolving during March and April.
” The Glenhaven suit shows how hard it may be @ @ @ @ @ @ @ nursing home industry ’ s long history of investigations over substandard care and staffing .
In Los Angeles County , more than 2,000 complaints are registered with public health officials each year .
“ We don ’ t foresee a flood of lawsuits , ” said Anthony Chicotel , an attorney for California Advocates for Nursing Home Reform .
His San Francisco watchdog group has referred just 13 coronavirus cases for potential litigation .
Personal injury attorneys are paid through contingency fees , so they take only strong cases , Chicotel said .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ visiting , “ it will be harder to prove there were violations of the standard of care , ” he added .
“ And what was the standard of care ?
It was fluid.
” Still , Chicotel said , the liability shield advocated by businesses and under negotiation in Congress would amount to a “ catastrophe ” for nursing home residents .
“ It would immunize all sorts of bad conduct , ” he said .
“ It would free poor providers from the last layer of accountability .
”

Henry Ephriam, who works at a Ralphs warehouse in Compton, contracted COVID-19 and is a plaintiff in a class-action lawsuit against the grocery chain.
Henry Ephriam landed in the hospital, terrified and suffering from chest pains, one of 125 workers at the Ralphs grocery chain’s Compton warehouse who were sickened with COVID-19.
Maria Pilar Ornelas struggled to breathe with a fever of 103.7. One of more than 180 workers at a Central Valley slaughterhouse who tested positive for the coronavirus, she says her supervisor told her to come to work anyway.
In Glendale, the wife and children of 77-year-old Ricardo Saldana say he died after nursing home staff were told not to wear masks and gloves. Seventeen employees and 22 residents caught the virus. Five died.
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Warehouse workers. Meatpackers. Nursing home residents. Cruise ship passengers. With infections in California surging past 680,000 and deaths topping 12,400, COVID-19-related lawsuits have begun to hit federal and state courts.
Businesses fear being blamed for the virus’ spread. They are mounting fierce campaigns in Congress and statehouses for measures to protect them from lawsuits over infections, hospitalizations and deaths related to the pandemic.
Since the virus took hold, many employers have been under siege, accused of failures to enforce social distancing, inadequate protective supplies and a lack of transparency when workers are infected. Customers also feel endangered when safety rules are poorly enforced.
“Relief from costly litigation could truly mean the difference between employers opening their doors and workers returning to work, or being forced to shutter their businesses permanently,” the California Chamber of Commerce and 24 industry groups wrote to congressional leaders last month.
The signers included retailers, manufacturers, agribusinesses, technology companies, hotels, restaurants and builders.
As yet, there is no tidal wave of COVID-related litigation — and may never be, given the hurdle of proving where exactly anyone was infected. At work? In the supermarket? On a sidewalk? And juries may be forgiving if employers argue they have tried to comply with shifting government guidelines.
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But U.S. Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell (R-Ky.) has predicted “an avalanche” of litigation and “the biggest trial lawyer bonanza in history.” And Republicans are pushing for a sweeping liability shield dubbed the Safe to Work Act, a measure that consumer groups staunchly oppose.
Maria Ornelas is the lead plaintiff in a suit against her employer, Central Valley Meat, over COVID-19 safety issues. Her partner, Pete Mabie, says he caught the virus from her. (Gary Coronado / Los Angeles Times)
The issue is a sticking point in stalled negotiations between the Trump administration and Democratic lawmakers over broad legislation to extend billions of dollars in federal unemployment benefits and relief for state and local governments.
In California, plaintiffs have filed more than 550 lawsuits as a result of the pandemic, according to a widely cited tracker by the law firm Hunton Andrews Kurth. So far, most involve such matters as companies’ disputes with insurers, including one by the renowned Napa Valley restaurateur Thomas Keller. Or small businesses taking banks to court over missing out on rescue loans. Or students filing complaints against universities, seeking refunds. Concert and sports event ticket holders are suing to get their money back, as are airline and amusement park customers.
Fewer than 50 involve the kinds of claims for personal injury, wrongful death or inadequate safety measures that the proposed federal liability shield addresses.
“Under current law, if businesses take reasonable steps to protect workers and customers, they are protected from lawsuits,” said Jacqueline Serna, deputy legislative director for the trade association Consumer Attorneys of California.
But the GOP congressional bill, she said, would mean “no liability under any state laws for a coronavirus-related personal injury claim. It preempts California laws meant to protect workers against gross negligence, willful misconduct, nuisance, disability, civil rights, assault, battery, fraudulent concealment — you name it.”
Corporations have already seen some success: A dozen states have enacted liability protections for business generally. And in at least 20 states, hospitals, nursing homes and healthcare providers are now immune from most coronavirus-related lawsuits.
California has not adopted any COVID-19 liability measures. Nor are healthcare companies protected. The Service Employees International Union filed suit Aug. 20 against Riverside Community Hospital and its owner, HCA Healthcare in Tennessee, on behalf of three employees who contracted COVID-19 and the daughter of another who died of the disease.
Gloria Mapp-Parker, left, watches fiance Henry Ephriam hold their baby daughter, Joycedavi. The couple contracted COVID-19; Joycedavi did not fall ill. (Jason Armond / Los Angeles Times)
Lawsuits involving grocery chains and warehouses that employ thousands of essential workers are among the most closely watched.
In the San Joaquin Valley, 52 workers at a Safeway facility were sickened, prompting a suit by the widow of one who died. In San Francisco, a picker who fills orders at an Amazon Fresh center sued over safeguards. And Walmart is the target of COVID-19 claims in Chicago and Dallas.
A class action filed last month on behalf of some 800 workers at a Ralphs warehouse in Compton reveals how contentious — and how personal — safety issues have become in the coronavirus era.
On May 11, Ephriam, a 37-year-old receiver who handles incoming goods, took a short nap after his shift and woke up with a 104-degree fever. The day before, the facility had announced that a single worker had tested positive for the virus, calling it “an isolated incident,” according to the suit filed in Los Angeles County Superior Court.
As his symptoms worsened, Ephriam said, he notified Ralphs of 20 employees with whom he’d worked closely, but the company contacted just five — an assertion Ralphs disputes. Within weeks, more than 100 workers were infected.
At the hospital, doctors sought to put Ephriam on a ventilator. He refused, fearing side effects, and was released in four days. Meanwhile, he said, he had brought the virus home: His fiancée, who was nursing their 7-month-old baby, fell ill.
In the suit, Ephriam and seven other plaintiffs say Ralphs took a “cavalier attitude” toward the pandemic, failing to provide enough masks, gloves or hand sanitizer, forcing employees to work close together and making them touch the same pad when clocking in.
“It was terrifying,” Ephriam said. “But management played it like it was no big deal. They didn’t care.”
Ephriam and his fiancée have largely recovered. But another plaintiff, Crescencio Perera, also fell severely ill and infected his family, the suit said. Perera’s wife, daughter, brother, nephew and father-in-law came down with COVID-19, and his father-in-law died.
Even now, the plaintiffs say, shared computers lack plastic keyboard covers to facilitate cleaning, shared scanner guns are not sanitized between shifts, temperature checks are spotty and social distancing rules are not enforced.
In a court response, Ralphs said it has complied with all government guidelines, adding that the COVID-19 protections urged in the suit are “a laundry list of amorphous demands and draconian requirements.”
It said that Ephriam provided just seven names of co-workers and that the company contacted all of them. “Ralphs posted reminders about social distancing as soon as the CDC recommended it,” the company said. And it cited surveillance footage showing Ephriam failing to wear a mask before his diagnosis and hugging two co-workers.
But Ephriam contends he and others were not distancing or wearing masks at the time because Ralphs had not advised them to do so, nor had it revealed that the virus was circulating at the warehouse. “They had nothing in place telling us what we should or shouldn’t be doing,” he said.
Ralphs spokesman John Votava declined to comment.
More than 180 workers at Central Valley Meat, the nation’s seventh-largest beef packer, have contracted COVID-19. (Gary Coronado / Los Angeles Times)
Similar safety complaints are the focus of a class-action suit on behalf of 750 employees of Central Valley Meat Co., the nation’s seventh-largest beef packer.
In early April, Ornelas, a 41-year-old quality control inspector, and her colleagues heard the virus had infected co-workers at the Hanford, Calif., slaughterhouse. “But supervisors were telling us, ‘Oh, it’s just a rumor,’” she said.
By then meatpackers across the country, working elbow to elbow cutting carcasses on fast-paced assembly lines, were getting sick by the thousands. In Los Angeles County, infections at a Farmer John pork processor had taken off in March, an outbreak that would eventually sicken at least 254 workers.
At Central Valley Meat, it wasn’t until workers posted news of their illness on Facebook that the company acknowledged the virus had spread in the plant, according to the federal suit filed last month.
Chief Executive Brian Coelho, whose family owns the privately held company, did not respond to multiple phone calls and emails. Central Valley Meat lawyers have yet to respond to the complaint.
Ornelas, who fell ill April 23, is still suffering. “I wake up and the next thing you know it’s just horrible. Headache, fever, chest pains, stomach problems.”
She wiped away tears. “I was a person who didn’t believe in depression,” she said. “But now I’m like, I just should have died. I want to give up.”
Ornelas brought the virus home to Pete Mabie, her partner. At the breakfast table, a carton of milk fell out of his hands. He started dropping things at the lumberyard where he works. He was hospitalized three times.
“I get electric shocks in my hands and feet,” he said. “The doctors say the virus caused nerve damage or a mini-stroke.”
Since April, Ornelas has returned to her $14.25-an-hour job three times, spurred by what she said was a threat of termination. But each time she felt too ill to continue. She has no health insurance, and her medical bills amount to hundreds of dollars.
Ornelas’ attorney, Aaron Olsen, said Central Valley Meat programs offering extra pay for perfect attendance and meting out discipline points for absences encouraged sick workers to stay on the job, violating guidelines for companies issued by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.
Although the company is taking workers’ temperatures and has posted signs urging social distancing, Ornelas said that when she returned in June, plastic curtains that had been hung between workers were down. “People were shoulder to shoulder again,” she said. “They had masks but weren’t wearing them.”
A federal liability shield would make it harder for lawsuits filed by Ephriam, Ornelas and other workers to succeed.
It could also protect cruise ship lines and nursing homes, industries with some of the nation’s highest infection rates, against claims from customers.
Passengers were evacuated from Carnival’s Grand Princess cruise ship in Oakland in March after 33 passengers tested positive for COVID-19. (Josh Edelson / AFP via Getty Images)
Travelers exposed to the virus on cruise ships have filed a slew of lawsuits, including four California class actions against Carnival Corp. on behalf of some 2,400 passengers. The company drew worldwide publicity in March after state officials, learning the virus was circulating on its Grand Princess vessel, at first refused to allow it to dock.
A Placer County man who had traveled on the ship was California’s first known COVID-19 fatality. And 33 others had tested positive. After five days stranded off San Francisco on lockdown, passengers were permitted to disembark, with hundreds forced into a 14-day quarantine at military bases.
Carnival “chose to place profits over people, including the safety of their passengers, crew, and the general public,” according to a class action filed in federal court in April by Robert Archer, a San Francisco retiree, and 61 other passengers who were hospitalized with COVID-19 or suffered severe symptoms as well as “anguish, fright, horror.”
According to the complaint, which asks for $5 million in damages, the cruise line was guilty of “gross negligence” in allowing some 2,000 passengers to board the ship in February and socialize unhindered without warning them that about 1,000 staff and travelers, still on board from a previous leg of the trip, had been exposed to the virus.
Carnival spokesman Roger Frizzell declined to comment on the litigation but said in an email, “Our top priorities are compliance, environmental protection and the health, safety and well-being of our guests and crew members.” The company has “created a new senior executive role of a chief compliance and ethics officer,” he said.
Like cruise lines, nursing homes are a target of coronavirus-related consumer suits. In California, more than 4,900 residents and staff at elder care facilities have died of COVID-19, about 40% of the state’s total fatalities. Throughout California, 1,120 skilled nursing homes and 301 assisted-living facilities have reported outbreaks.
In a lawsuit against Glenhaven Healthcare, Saldana’s family says that the Glendale facility “went so far as to lock up protective equipment that the local fire department delivered.... As a result, the virus ran rampant.”
The complaint, filed in Los Angeles County Superior Court, said the nursing home concealed the fact that an employee exposed to the virus had spent two weeks interacting with staff and residents. And it says an exposed resident was moved into Saldana’s room without informing him or his family.
The nursing home said its staff followed health guidelines from local and federal authorities. “We can definitively say that Glenhaven Healthcare heroes put our patients first every day,” it said in a statement.
Last month, the facility’s attorneys sought to move the lawsuit to federal court, saying that a 2005 U.S. emergency preparedness law grants it immunity from elder-abuse, negligence and wrongful-death claims.
The complaint fails to establish that Saldana died as a result of any misconduct, they wrote in a July 31 filing, adding: “information about the novel coronavirus ... and how to prevent its spread was ... constantly evolving during March and April.”
The Glenhaven suit shows how hard it may be to win COVID-19 cases, despite the nursing home industry’s long history of investigations over substandard care and staffing. In Los Angeles County, more than 2,000 complaints are registered with public health officials each year.
“We don’t foresee a flood of lawsuits,” said Anthony Chicotel, an attorney for California Advocates for Nursing Home Reform. His San Francisco watchdog group has referred just 13 coronavirus cases for potential litigation.
Personal injury attorneys are paid through contingency fees, so they take only strong cases, Chicotel said. With residents’ relatives largely blocked from visiting, “it will be harder to prove there were violations of the standard of care,” he added. “And what was the standard of care? It was fluid.”
Still, Chicotel said, the liability shield advocated by businesses and under negotiation in Congress would amount to a “catastrophe” for nursing home residents.
“It would immunize all sorts of bad conduct,” he said. “It would free poor providers from the last layer of accountability.”