latimes--2020-06-20--Poorest seniors shut out of California's coronavirus meal program

To help elderly people at severe risk from the coronavirus , California launched the “ Great Plates Delivered ” program to bring meals from local restaurants to their homes .
In Los Angeles , city employees swung into action to enroll seniors in need .
But soon they got a seemingly contradictory message : Some seniors , they were told , were too needy to qualify .
Beginning in May , L.A. officials instructed workers taking calls for the meals program that elderly people were eligible only if their incomes fell between roughly $ 25,000 and $ 75,000 for a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the very poorest — those earning under $ 24,981 annually — could not access the new program .
Los Angeles officials pointed to guidance sent out by the state , which said that eligible participants must earn “ no less than 200 % of the federal poverty limit.
” Other California cities and counties have cited the same rule .
The reason , state officials say , is that Great Plates Delivered is meant for seniors who aren ’ t accessing other nutrition programs .
The costs of the new program are reimbursed @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Agency , which has mandated that the money can not be used to assist people who are benefiting from other government programs .
Among them is CalFresh , the California program for food stamps , which is limited to households earning 200 % of the federal poverty limit or less .
California wants cities and counties “ to serve as many individuals as could be served within this program — while being able to recoup the costs ” from FEMA , said Brian Ferguson , a spokesman for the Governor ’ s Office @ @ @ @ @ @ @ counties have referred seniors who earn too little for Great Plates to other meal programs .
But some local officials and advocates have bristled at the restrictions , arguing that the poorest seniors aren ’ t necessarily enrolled in other nutrition programs .
Even if they are , critics say , those programs don ’ t provide people as much help .
Dozens of cities and counties have signed up to administer Great Plates Delivered , which is also meant to serve as an economic stimulus for local restaurants struggling to survive .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ in May , has since been extended through July 10 .
Los Angeles is extending that and other COVID-related senior meals programs through August , according to Mayor Eric Garcetti ’ s office .
Ferguson said that more than 29,000 people across California were slated to get meals last week through the Great Plates program .
“ This is a first-in-the nation program , ” Ferguson said .
“ To pick at the details loses track of that — that this was a monumental effort that has helped feed hundreds of thousands of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ officials complained that the new program “ fails to address the needs of the lowest income members of our community.
” Berkeley officials said that although the rules are based on the idea that the poorest seniors are eligible for other programs such as CalFresh , eligible people aren ’ t necessarily enrolled in them — and those programs don ’ t provide as much aid .
Meals on Wheels , for instance , “ only provides one meal per day , ” Berkeley officials wrote in a report .
“ Ironically , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ higher income individuals can receive three restaurant meals per day valued at $ 66 per day.
” The San Diego Hunger Coalition raised similar concerns about an “ inequitable approach , ” warning that other food assistance programs “ do not — nor are they intended to — fully meet the nutritional needs of enrolled Californians.
” CalFresh provides up to $ 6.26 per day for an individual , while Great Plates provides up to $ 66 worth of meals daily , it wrote .
And in Los Angeles , some seniors get @ @ @ @ @ @ @ but in order to utilize it they ’ re putting themselves at extreme risk for contracting COVID , ” said Sissy Trinh , executive director of the Southeast Asian Community Alliance , which has been assisting people in Chinatown and Lincoln Heights .
In one Chinatown building , Trinh said , dozens of tenants share a single kitchen , which means they can ’ t stock up on lots of groceries and avoid repeated shopping trips .
In addition , Trinh said that many other seniors whose incomes should qualify them for food @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in bureaucratic limbo or afraid to apply .
“ We started soliciting donations for meals and just paying out of pocket , ” Trinh said .
“ We ’ ve spent thousands of dollars buying meals for folks that should be eligible but aren ’ t , ” including people whose incomes were too low for Great Plates .
“ It ’ s been a mess , ” she said .
Los Angeles was already running meal programs before Great Plates was launched this spring .
Laura Trejo , head of L.A. ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ during that time , more than half of the seniors enrolled were under 200 % of the federal poverty limit .
When Great Plates began , the city started referring people whose incomes fell short to other meal programs and adding them to a wait list .
As of Thursday , roughly 2,300 people had been put on a wait list for meals , including more than 400 seniors whose incomes were too low for Great Plates , according to the mayor ’ s office .
In internal messages obtained by The Times @ @ @ @ @ @ @ program repeatedly discussed seniors not qualifying because their incomes were too low .
One worker called the requirement “ awful.
” Trejo described the Great Plates program as just “ one aspect of our local approach to serving seniors.
” Existing services without income restrictions have expanded and the city of Los Angeles is now serving an estimated 20,000 seniors through all of its meal programs , Trejo said — a huge leap from the roughly 4,500 served before the pandemic .
Garcetti said in a statement that the city had “ acted @ @ @ @ @ @ @ most vulnerable to COVID-19 , ” and that with the help of another $ 25 million in federal funding to expand its meal programs , “ we ’ ve been able to include more of our lowest-income seniors.
” A Garcetti aide said that money would be used to help the lowest income people on the wait list .
L.A. officials said that so far , 42 % of the seniors who have been served overall were under 200 % of the federal poverty limit .
Those programs could take a hit , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ for senior nutrition programs as Gov .
Newsom has proposed , Trejo said .
Gary Gero , director of L.A. County ’ s food security branch , said that when the Great Plates restrictions were laid out , “ we said , ‘ This is problematic because it ’ s the people at the lowest end of the income level that aren ’ t qualified.
’ ” Still , Gero said , “ we ’ ve learned to adapt ” and refer people who earn too little for Great Plates to other programs @ @ @ @ @ @ @ s existing elderly nutrition program .
The county program provides two meals a day , not the three covered by Great Plates , so “ you have to fend for yourself for breakfast , ” Gero said .
Ferguson , the Office of Emergency Services spokesman , said Great Plates had been a success .
But “ certainly if there ’ s an ability to have a more inclusive program in the future , that ’ s something we should look at , ” he said .
Great Plates had already been facing @ @ @ @ @ @ @ month into the program , The Times reported that far fewer people had gotten help than Gov .
Gavin Newsom had initially predicted .
Eligibility requirements were among the concerns : In Gardena , for instance , a service coordinator at a senior complex said that many residents could not participate in Great Plates because they receive CalFresh benefits — but those same residents were uneasy about going to the grocery store to use those benefits because of the COVID-19 pandemic .

To help elderly people at severe risk from the new coronavirus, Gov. Gavin Newsom’s Office of Emergency Services launched the “Great Plates Delivered” program to bring meals from local restaurants to their homes.
To help elderly people at severe risk from the coronavirus, California launched the “Great Plates Delivered” program to bring meals from local restaurants to their homes.
In Los Angeles, city employees swung into action to enroll seniors in need. But soon they got a seemingly contradictory message: Some seniors, they were told, were too needy to qualify.
Beginning in May, L.A. officials instructed workers taking calls for the meals program that elderly people were eligible only if their incomes fell between roughly $25,000 and $75,000 for a household of one. That meant that the very poorest — those earning under $24,981 annually — could not access the new program.
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Los Angeles officials pointed to guidance sent out by the state, which said that eligible participants must earn “no less than 200% of the federal poverty limit.” Other California cities and counties have cited the same rule.
The reason, state officials say, is that Great Plates Delivered is meant for seniors who aren’t accessing other nutrition programs.
The costs of the new program are reimbursed in part through the Federal Emergency Management Agency, which has mandated that the money cannot be used to assist people who are benefiting from other government programs. Among them is CalFresh, the California program for food stamps, which is limited to households earning 200% of the federal poverty limit or less.
California wants cities and counties “to serve as many individuals as could be served within this program — while being able to recoup the costs” from FEMA, said Brian Ferguson, a spokesman for the Governor’s Office of Emergency Services.
Many cities and counties have referred seniors who earn too little for Great Plates to other meal programs.
But some local officials and advocates have bristled at the restrictions, arguing that the poorest seniors aren’t necessarily enrolled in other nutrition programs. Even if they are, critics say, those programs don’t provide people as much help.
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Dozens of cities and counties have signed up to administer Great Plates Delivered, which is also meant to serve as an economic stimulus for local restaurants struggling to survive.
The program, initially slated to end in May, has since been extended through July 10. Los Angeles is extending that and other COVID-related senior meals programs through August, according to Mayor Eric Garcetti’s office. Ferguson said that more than 29,000 people across California were slated to get meals last week through the Great Plates program.
“This is a first-in-the nation program,” Ferguson said. “To pick at the details loses track of that — that this was a monumental effort that has helped feed hundreds of thousands of Californians.”
But in Berkeley, city officials complained that the new program “fails to address the needs of the lowest income members of our community.” Berkeley officials said that although the rules are based on the idea that the poorest seniors are eligible for other programs such as CalFresh, eligible people aren’t necessarily enrolled in them — and those programs don’t provide as much aid.
Meals on Wheels, for instance, “only provides one meal per day,” Berkeley officials wrote in a report. “Ironically, with the Great Plates Delivered program, higher income individuals can receive three restaurant meals per day valued at $66 per day.”
The San Diego Hunger Coalition raised similar concerns about an “inequitable approach,” warning that other food assistance programs “do not — nor are they intended to — fully meet the nutritional needs of enrolled Californians.” CalFresh provides up to $6.26 per day for an individual, while Great Plates provides up to $66 worth of meals daily, it wrote.
And in Los Angeles, some seniors get assistance such as food stamps, “but in order to utilize it they’re putting themselves at extreme risk for contracting COVID,” said Sissy Trinh, executive director of the Southeast Asian Community Alliance, which has been assisting people in Chinatown and Lincoln Heights.
In one Chinatown building, Trinh said, dozens of tenants share a single kitchen, which means they can’t stock up on lots of groceries and avoid repeated shopping trips.
In addition, Trinh said that many other seniors whose incomes should qualify them for food stamps or other aid have been stuck in bureaucratic limbo or afraid to apply.
“We started soliciting donations for meals and just paying out of pocket,” Trinh said. “We’ve spent thousands of dollars buying meals for folks that should be eligible but aren’t,” including people whose incomes were too low for Great Plates.
“It’s been a mess,” she said.
Los Angeles was already running meal programs before Great Plates was launched this spring. Laura Trejo, head of L.A.’s Department of Aging, said that during that time, more than half of the seniors enrolled were under 200% of the federal poverty limit.
When Great Plates began, the city started referring people whose incomes fell short to other meal programs and adding them to a wait list. As of Thursday, roughly 2,300 people had been put on a wait list for meals, including more than 400 seniors whose incomes were too low for Great Plates, according to the mayor’s office.
In internal messages obtained by The Times, city employees assisting with the meal program repeatedly discussed seniors not qualifying because their incomes were too low. One worker called the requirement “awful.”
Trejo described the Great Plates program as just “one aspect of our local approach to serving seniors.” Existing services without income restrictions have expanded and the city of Los Angeles is now serving an estimated 20,000 seniors through all of its meal programs, Trejo said — a huge leap from the roughly 4,500 served before the pandemic.
Garcetti said in a statement that the city had “acted early and swiftly to protect the seniors most vulnerable to COVID-19,” and that with the help of another $25 million in federal funding to expand its meal programs, “we’ve been able to include more of our lowest-income seniors.”
A Garcetti aide said that money would be used to help the lowest income people on the wait list. L.A. officials said that so far, 42% of the seniors who have been served overall were under 200% of the federal poverty limit. Those programs could take a hit, however, if the state slashes funding for senior nutrition programs as Gov. Newsom has proposed, Trejo said.
Gary Gero, director of L.A. County’s food security branch, said that when the Great Plates restrictions were laid out, “we said, ‘This is problematic because it’s the people at the lowest end of the income level that aren’t qualified.’”
Still, Gero said, “we’ve learned to adapt” and refer people who earn too little for Great Plates to other programs, including CalFresh and L.A. County’s existing elderly nutrition program. The county program provides two meals a day, not the three covered by Great Plates, so “you have to fend for yourself for breakfast,” Gero said.
Ferguson, the Office of Emergency Services spokesman, said Great Plates had been a success. But “certainly if there’s an ability to have a more inclusive program in the future, that’s something we should look at,” he said.
Great Plates had already been facing questions about its reach. Nearly a month into the program, The Times reported that far fewer people had gotten help than Gov. Gavin Newsom had initially predicted.
Eligibility requirements were among the concerns: In Gardena, for instance, a service coordinator at a senior complex said that many residents could not participate in Great Plates because they receive CalFresh benefits — but those same residents were uneasy about going to the grocery store to use those benefits because of the COVID-19 pandemic.
Times staff writer Taryn Luna contributed to this report.


latimes--2020-06-20--Column: Nearly 50 years later, he hasn't forgotten the ugly racial incident, and neither have I

It happened on a summer night almost 50 years ago .
I was a year or two out of high school , attending community college .
My jock friends and I had gathered in a park in Pittsburg , just east of San Francisco , a working-class mill town that was diverse but divided .
We did a lot of hanging out like that in our aimless late teens and early 20s , but that night was different , and unforgettable .
Well into the evening , fueled by beer , one of the revelers abruptly and for no apparent @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and threatening a racial taunt as I ’ ve ever heard .
I didn ’ t know the guy well .
I wish I could say it was shocking , but it was just a more extreme version of the kind of thing you heard around town .
I remember silence , and I remember the face of the one Black friend among us .
All eyes turned to Rod Ingram , who was shrouded in betrayal and resignation .
He quickly got to his feet and quietly left .
The rest of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ has haunted me ever since .
Rod and I had played baseball together as kids .
For a time , I was a pitcher and he was the catcher , but he had something special .
Rod ’ s bat was a rocket launcher , his arm was a cannon .
The Cleveland Indians drafted him , but he played college ball instead .
Then he got drafted by the San Francisco Giants .
When a bum knee ended his dream , he became a teacher and later was head coach at St. @ @ @ @ @ @ @ town we grew up in , my white and brown friends and I said things that make me cringe today .
Ethnic “ humor ” was so common you could convince yourself it was innocent , and Archie Bunker prototypes were everywhere .
I remember the N-word being thrown around a lot , though not in mixed company .
In the park that night in the early 1970s , the dark truth of that town was exposed .
I think that was the last time I ever saw Rod , but every time @ @ @ @ @ @ @ his face , and I revisited my own cowardice and hypocrisy .
Why didn ’ t I have the courage that night to tell the tough guy to shut up ?
Why didn ’ t I have the heart to walk away with Rod ?
That night was the beginning of an awakening for me .
I became increasingly restless , impatient , skeptical of everything I thought I knew and ashamed of everything I didn ’ t know .
I became determined to distance myself from the town and the people closest @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to the East Coast was , in some ways , an act of rebellion that should have begun much earlier .
I began thinking about Rod again after George Floyd died under the knee of a cop in Minneapolis , because how could we not examine our own lives and the obvious evils of institutional racism and white privilege ?
In America , still , every night is another night in the park .
Just over a week ago , I began trying to track down Rod .
I thought I should apologize @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
And why should I assume he ’ d care to talk to me at all ?
We ’ d spoken about the incident just once by phone , 10 years after it happened .
“ I didn ’ t think anybody remembered that night , ” Rod said on the phone , back in the early 1980s .
That conversation almost 40 years ago was brief , and awkward for me .
After that , he went one way , I went another .
When I began looking for him again , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ he lived .
And then I found out that Rod , at 66 , has relocated to Florida and works there as a substitute teacher .
I texted him , asking if we could chat , and he texted back immediately .
“ You can call me anytime , Teammate , ” he wrote , adding a baseball emoji .
When I called him , we were instantly familiar , sharing stories all the way back to our days in Little League .
We talked for nearly three hours and vowed to catch @ @ @ @ @ @ @ baseball is back in business .
If it was true that I ’ d thought about him hundreds of times over the years , Rod said , it sure took me long enough to reach out .
And if I still felt bad about that night , he added , imagine how he felt .
“ It was like being hit by a bolt of lightning , ” he told me .
“ I had my 10-speed with me , and when I left I was sweating profusely .
I don ’ t @ @ @ @ @ @ @ but I felt like I was floating .
It was not so much anger I was feeling , I was just bewildered.
” It wasn ’ t , of course , that he was unaware of racism as a child , Rod told me .
As a young kid , he said , he ’ d sometimes tag along with a white friend to the home of another white friend .
They ’ d knock on the door of the house together , and he ’ d be asked by an adult to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ friend went inside .
But Rod said he ’ d never heard bigotry expressed like it was that night .
He figures now that if confronted today , the guy would say he didn ’ t mean what he said , he was just young and dumb and said something stupid .
Still , it was a violent slur by someone who was a classmate , if not a baseball teammate or close friend .
As for the baseball players who were there , Rod said he ’ d thought of us as @ @ @ @ @ @ @ he thought he could trust .
And yet we let him down .
“ Some people call it tribalism , ” Rod said .
“ That ’ s not judging things with your heart but going along with the crowd .
I know you guys didn ’ t mean to hurt me , but everybody was there , and not one person said , ‘ Hey , Rod Ingram ’ s here.
’ I had to come to terms with that.
” The incident in the park was not the last one Rod @ @ @ @ @ @ @ time later , he said , two college dorm mates in Oregon walked behind him muttering the N-word .
Another time in Oregon , he was headed from his apartment to his car when two police officers ordered him into their vehicle and drove him around town without explanation .
They finally told him there ’ d been burglaries in the area and there was a bad element in town .
They dumped him out , a long way from his own vehicle , and said , “ You be careful , n—.
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ where Rod worked as a teacher and high school baseball coach in the ’ 80s , he said the parent of an opposing team member called out , “ Get off the field , n—.
” “ My players heard it , and everybody in the stands heard it , and I ’ m standing there thinking , what do I have to do to not be disrespected like this ?
” Rod said .
“ I ’ m out here doing what I ’ m supposed to be doing , and you @ @ @ @ @ @ @ I needed to distance myself from Pittsburg , I later learned that my hometown was no different from many others .
Five decades on , East Coast and West , North and South , bigotry endures , the flames of hatred are fanned for political gain , and silent witness to injustice is no less a cancer than a knee to the neck .
Rod told me he doesn ’ t know if the disease of systemic racism will ever be cured .
But as he watches the news of Floyd and the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ he sees demonstrators of all colors marching for change , he said he is reminded of one of his favorite quotes from Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. : “ History will have to record that the greatest tragedy of this period of social transition was not the strident clamor of the bad people , but the appalling silence of the good people .
”

It happened on a summer night almost 50 years ago.
I was a year or two out of high school, attending community college. My jock friends and I had gathered in a park in Pittsburg, just east of San Francisco, a working-class mill town that was diverse but divided. We did a lot of hanging out like that in our aimless late teens and early 20s, but that night was different, and unforgettable.
Well into the evening, fueled by beer, one of the revelers abruptly and for no apparent reason shouted out as ugly, vulgar and threatening a racial taunt as I’ve ever heard.
I didn’t know the guy well. I wish I could say it was shocking, but it was just a more extreme version of the kind of thing you heard around town. I remember silence, and I remember the face of the one Black friend among us.
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All eyes turned to Rod Ingram, who was shrouded in betrayal and resignation. He quickly got to his feet and quietly left. The rest of us didn’t, and that has haunted me ever since.
Rod and I had played baseball together as kids. For a time, I was a pitcher and he was the catcher, but he had something special. Rod’s bat was a rocket launcher, his arm was a cannon. The Cleveland Indians drafted him, but he played college ball instead. Then he got drafted by the San Francisco Giants. When a bum knee ended his dream, he became a teacher and later was head coach at St. Mary’s College.
In the town we grew up in, my white and brown friends and I said things that make me cringe today. Ethnic “humor” was so common you could convince yourself it was innocent, and Archie Bunker prototypes were everywhere. I remember the N-word being thrown around a lot, though not in mixed company.
In the park that night in the early 1970s, the dark truth of that town was exposed.
I think that was the last time I ever saw Rod, but every time I passed that spot, I saw his face, and I revisited my own cowardice and hypocrisy. Why didn’t I have the courage that night to tell the tough guy to shut up? Why didn’t I have the heart to walk away with Rod?
That night was the beginning of an awakening for me. I became increasingly restless, impatient, skeptical of everything I thought I knew and ashamed of everything I didn’t know. I became determined to distance myself from the town and the people closest to me, and an eventual move to the East Coast was, in some ways, an act of rebellion that should have begun much earlier.
Advertisement
I began thinking about Rod again after George Floyd died under the knee of a cop in Minneapolis, because how could we not examine our own lives and the obvious evils of institutional racism and white privilege?
In America, still, every night is another night in the park.
Just over a week ago, I began trying to track down Rod. I thought I should apologize, finally, although that felt self-serving. And why should I assume he’d care to talk to me at all?
We’d spoken about the incident just once by phone, 10 years after it happened.
“I didn’t think anybody remembered that night,” Rod said on the phone, back in the early 1980s.
“I’ll never forget it,” I told him.
That conversation almost 40 years ago was brief, and awkward for me. After that, he went one way, I went another. When I began looking for him again, I didn’t even know where he lived. And then I found out that Rod, at 66, has relocated to Florida and works there as a substitute teacher. I texted him, asking if we could chat, and he texted back immediately.
“You can call me anytime, Teammate,” he wrote, adding a baseball emoji.
When I called him, we were instantly familiar, sharing stories all the way back to our days in Little League. We talked for nearly three hours and vowed to catch a game together, somewhere, when baseball is back in business.
If it was true that I’d thought about him hundreds of times over the years, Rod said, it sure took me long enough to reach out. And if I still felt bad about that night, he added, imagine how he felt.
“It was like being hit by a bolt of lightning,” he told me. “I had my 10-speed with me, and when I left I was sweating profusely. I don’t know if I ran any lights … but I felt like I was floating. It was not so much anger I was feeling, I was just bewildered.”
It wasn’t, of course, that he was unaware of racism as a child, Rod told me. As a young kid, he said, he’d sometimes tag along with a white friend to the home of another white friend. They’d knock on the door of the house together, and he’d be asked by an adult to wait on the porch while the white friend went inside.
But Rod said he’d never heard bigotry expressed like it was that night. He figures now that if confronted today, the guy would say he didn’t mean what he said, he was just young and dumb and said something stupid. Still, it was a violent slur by someone who was a classmate, if not a baseball teammate or close friend.
As for the baseball players who were there, Rod said he’d thought of us as longtime friends — part of a crew he thought he could trust. And yet we let him down.
“Some people call it tribalism,” Rod said. “That’s not judging things with your heart but going along with the crowd. I know you guys didn’t mean to hurt me, but everybody was there, and not one person said, ‘Hey, Rod Ingram’s here.’ I had to come to terms with that.”
The incident in the park was not the last one Rod had to deal with. A short time later, he said, two college dorm mates in Oregon walked behind him muttering the N-word.
Another time in Oregon, he was headed from his apartment to his car when two police officers ordered him into their vehicle and drove him around town without explanation. They finally told him there’d been burglaries in the area and there was a bad element in town. They dumped him out, a long way from his own vehicle, and said, “You be careful, n—.”
Back in the East Bay, where Rod worked as a teacher and high school baseball coach in the ’80s, he said the parent of an opposing team member called out, “Get off the field, n—.”
“My players heard it, and everybody in the stands heard it, and I’m standing there thinking, what do I have to do to not be disrespected like this?” Rod said. “I’m out here doing what I’m supposed to be doing, and you’re degrading me?”
Although I needed to distance myself from Pittsburg, I later learned that my hometown was no different from many others. Five decades on, East Coast and West, North and South, bigotry endures, the flames of hatred are fanned for political gain, and silent witness to injustice is no less a cancer than a knee to the neck.
Rod told me he doesn’t know if the disease of systemic racism will ever be cured. But as he watches the news of Floyd and the other victims of police brutality, and he sees demonstrators of all colors marching for change, he said he is reminded of one of his favorite quotes from Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.:
“History will have to record that the greatest tragedy of this period of social transition was not the strident clamor of the bad people, but the appalling silence of the good people.”
Steve.lopez@latimes.com


latimes--2020-06-20--Police violence against journalists recalls slaying of Ruben Salazar

Adolfo Guzman-Lopez , a radio journalist in Los Angeles since 2000 , responded with the typical affirmative when he got a request from his editor on a Sunday to cover some news .
He ’ d be out at that afternoon ’ s anti-police brutality protests in his home city of Long Beach .
Sure thing .
“ The march was happening like 10 minutes from where I lived , so I said yes , ” Guzman-Lopez recalled .
“ I got ready , got my equipment , food , water , mask and everything.
” Guzman-Lopez didn ’ t @ @ @ @ @ @ @ s end he ’ d be reprising elements of a notorious event from 50 years ago , when another nonwhite L.A. journalist went to cover a demonstration and had a brutal encounter with the police .
The KPCC reporter , wearing press credentials and a blue polo , arrived at the peaceful demonstration on May 31 and got to work : observing the scene , doing spot interviews , and keeping an eye on Long Beach police officers in riot gear holding a line near 3rd Street and Pine Avenue .
He called @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Southern California Public Radio ( FM 89.3 ) .
“ Just as I said goodbye to the host , things changed , ” Guzman-Lopez said .
“ Police officers started to move up , that caused some of the protesters to get more vocal , start chanting , and yelling louder .
That ’ s when I heard the pop , ” he said .
At that moment , the reporter felt a “ sting ” at his throat , and watched as an object bounced to the ground near him .
It @ @ @ @ @ @ @ daze , Guzman-Lopez ran to a parking lot .
A few people stopped to help him and noticed blood .
“ I went to my car to tell my editor what happened , and that ’ s when I tweeted the picture that ’ s gotten around , ” he said .
The image right at the base of Guzman-Lopez ’ s throat .
( Guzman-Lopez is still recovering and provided audio of a 30-minute interview he recorded with National Public Radio . )
He later described a sensation of feeling targeted — @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of his voice — for doing his job .
“ I felt it was a direct hit to my throat , ” he said .
The Long Beach Police Department apologized and said it was investigating .
Attacks on journalists by police officers during the demonstrations that spread to all 50 states after the killing of George Floyd have alarmed the nation and brought before large crowds .
According to watchdog groups , the hundreds of attacks against journalists documented on U.S. soil this spring amount to the most serious threat to 1st @ @ @ @ @ @ @ our country .
In Los Angeles , the images and videos showing journalists being beaten , tear-gassed and shot with rubber bullets by law enforcement carried an extra prick of pain for anyone who knows the name of Ruben Salazar .
He was the Mexican American journalist whose trailblazing career at the L.A. Times coincided with the revolutionary fervor of the Chicano Movement , the youth-led wave of activism and art that coalesced around opposition to the Vietnam War .
On Aug. 29 , 1970 , Salazar was killed when a sheriff ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the covered doorway of a bar in the chaos of the police melee that followed the Chicano Moratorium in East Los Angeles .
Salazar , 42 , worked as an and news director of the upstart Spanish-language news station KMEX at the time .
He was sitting inside the Silver Dollar Bar and Café and was instantly killed .
No journalists have been injured fatally so far in the Black Lives Matter protests this year , but several have suffered serious injuries .
And for many in Southern California , analogous elements between @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
“ When I saw Adolfo Guzman-Lopez post that picture of him shot in the neck , the first thing that popped into my mind was Ruben Salazar , ” said Mekahlo Medina , a local broadcast journalist and a former president of the National Assn .
of Hispanic Journalists .
“ It worried me a lot , ” Medina added , particularly since this year is the 50th anniversary of the moratorium , or the National Chicano Moratorium Committee Against the Vietnam War .
“ We certainly didn ’ t want to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Salazar.
” Salazar , one of the earliest nonwhite reporters ever published in the Los Angeles Times , built a storied career at the newspaper .
He amplified issues facing the Mexican American community , which had long been demonized in the pages of the newspaper , and served for a time as bureau chief in Mexico City .
His death was ruled an accident after a public inquest that year , and reconfirmed as unintentional after an official review by the Sheriff ’ s Department in 2011 .
Yet doubts about those @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Today , the Ciudad Juarez-born Salazar is memorialized in a U.S. postage stamp , and in a display in the Globe Lobby of the old L.A. Times building downtown .
He is one of four Times journalists who ’ ve been killed while reporting in the nearly 140-year history of the newspaper .
Last Tuesday , the Los Angeles County Board of Supervisors unanimously that asserted the 1st Amendment rights of working journalists to document and investigate publicly relevant news events .
The motion states that the board “ opposes the targeting , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and arrest of members of the free press by the Los Angeles County Sheriff ’ s Department , Los Angeles Police Department , or any other law enforcement agency in Los Angeles County.
” The supervisors named specific cases of L.A.-based or L.A.-representing reporters who were injured or suffered damage to their equipment during the George Floyd protests in late May and early June , including Cerise Castle of KCRW ( FM 89.9 ) ; Lexis-Olivier Ray , a photojournalist and reporter with L.A. Taco ; UCLA student journalist Jintak Han ; and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ whose camera was destroyed by a rubber bullet .
“ There was no warning , no , ” Castle said of her case , in which LAPD struck her at the May 30 protest in the Fairfax District .
She spent several days in crutches afterwards .
“ No order to disperse , no one saying this was an unlawful assembly.
” The resolution also made note of injuries suffered by two other L.A. Times journalists while covering a protest outside a police precinct in Minneapolis , where Floyd was killed on May @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Carolyn Cole at the hands of the Minnesota State Patrol in pieces subsequently published by the newspaper .
They said they were clearly identifiable as members of the press .
“ An officer came so close I could feel the full force of the pepper spray go into my left ear and eye , ” , a Pulitzer Prize winner who has covered conflict zones around the globe .
“ I ’ m very fortunate that this is the first time in 25 years at the L.A. Times that I ’ ve been @ @ @ @ @ @ @ damaged by the pepper spray , but I ’ m hoping it will heal quickly so I can get back to work.
” Hennessy-Fiske was hit about six times in the leg by either rubber bullets or a tear-gas canister , she said , leading to swelling and bruising , seen in images she posted on Twitter .
She ’ s back to work this week and is intent on staying focused on the story at large .
“ I ’ m not going to stop reporting because this happened , ” Hennessy-Fiske @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , ‘ Go home don ’ t be reporting , ’ my response is I ’ m going to keep reporting , and part of what I ’ m going to keep reporting on is you.
” The Times is now sending reporters to cover demonstrations with helmets , in addition to the masks required due to the coronavirus pandemic .
Local reporters and photographers said the chaotic days of late May and early June saw multiple incidents of police not respecting 1st Amendment freedoms as they sought to disperse or contain demonstrators @ @ @ @ @ @ @ unable or unwilling to differentiate between protesters and press .
In addition , the reporters struck by law enforcement in L.A. County and cited by the supervisors are all nonwhite .
Virginia Espino , a researcher who teaches about the Chicano Moratorium and Salazar ’ s death at UCLA , said the L.A. press attacks carried an undeniable racial factor .
“ I think some of those journalists got shot at because they weren ’ t blonde , ” Espino said .
“ Even if they had their press passes showing , they @ @ @ @ @ @ @ protesting at that time.
” “ It ’ s something I ’ ve experienced , where law enforcement or people in authority question my credentials often , ” said Castle of KCRW .
“ And it ’ s something I ’ ve seen happen to other journalists of color.
” Samanta Helou Hernandez , an L.A. freelance journalist and photographer , found herself detained by Los Angeles police on June 2 after being chased by officers while covering a demonstration outside Getty House , the official L.A. mayoral residence in Windsor Square .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ was press .
But as a freelancer , she was not carrying credentials issued by a news organization .
So Helou Hernandez was corralled up with demonstrators .
After talking to an officer who offered an apology for stopping her , she said , “ He basically said if you ’ re press you should have run toward the police , which to me sounded ridiculous .
You ’ re telling me to charge toward the police while they ’ re in full riot gear , come on.
” She was also told @ @ @ @ @ @ @ credentials , she ’ d have to be taken downtown to “ plead her case.
” At that moment , she saw a colleague , Ray of L.A. Taco , who stepped in and pulled up journalistic work by Helou Hernandez to prove she was working press .
“ That ’ s when the tone really changed with how I was treated , ” Helou Hernandez said .
In all , she was held for about an hour-and-a-half .
The Committee to Protect Journalists is investigating at least 280 cases of attacks on @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ a number we have never seen in the United States , ” the group said in an open letter to mayors and governors .
The L.A. chapter of the Society of Professional Journalists also sent a , urging them to respect press freedoms .
The organization also called on Los Angeles County Dist .
Atty .
Jackie Lacey to prosecute offending officers .
In a statement , Los Angeles Police Capt .
Giselle Espinoza , a commanding officer in the Media Relations Division , said the LAPD was “ committed ” to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ with the media is very important to the LAPD , ” Espinoza wrote .
“ We have made extensive efforts to work with reporters ensuring not only their safety , but also their ability to cover this important story.
” The sheriff ’ s department said it also stood by protections .
“ The Los Angeles County Sheriff ’ s Department strongly believes in the First Amendment and the right for our working press to safely cover events , ” the information bureau said in a statement .
But for Guzman-Lopez and others @ @ @ @ @ @ @ year also recalled the so-called May Day melee of 2007 , in which LAPD officers from the Metropolitan Division began , including families , after the customary May 1 festivities and rallies at MacArthur Park .
After decades since the death of Ruben Salazar , have police agencies truly adopted a culture of protection for 1st Amendment rights ?
“ If you think about it , while I was being detained , I was unable to take photos , unable to report , so think about that information that was lost , ” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ hindering the press from doing their job , and from getting information out to people , so it ’ s incredibly dangerous.
” The officer who shot Guzman-Lopez has not been identified , said Arantxa Chavarria , a public information officer with the Long Beach Police Department .
“ Our Chief of Police Robert Luna spoke directly with Mr. Guzman-Lopez to express our apologies and to gain further insight into the circumstances of the incident , ” she said .
“ What I was doing to get shot at with a rubber bullet @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the police officer miss ?
Was he aiming at someone behind me ?
Was he aiming at the African American man next to me ?
These people are pretty good shots , I suppose .
”

Adolfo Guzman-Lopez, a radio journalist in Los Angeles since 2000, responded with the typical affirmative when he got a request from his editor on a Sunday to cover some news. He’d be out at that afternoon’s anti-police-brutality protests in his home city of Long Beach. Sure thing.
“The march was happening like 10 minutes from where I lived, so I said yes,” Guzman-Lopez recalled. “I got ready, got my equipment, food, water, mask and everything.”
Guzman-Lopez didn’t know then, but by day’s end he’d be reprising elements of a notorious event from 50 years ago, when another nonwhite L.A. journalist went to cover a demonstration and had a brutal encounter with the police.
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The KPCC reporter, wearing press credentials and a blue polo, arrived at the peaceful demonstration May 31 and got to work: observing the scene, doing spot interviews and keeping an eye on Long Beach police officers in riot gear holding a line near 3rd Street and Pine Avenue.
He called in details to the news broadcast at Southern California Public Radio. “Just as I said goodbye to the host, things changed,” Guzman-Lopez said. “Police officers started to move up, that caused some of the protesters to get more vocal, start chanting, and yelling louder. That’s when I heard the pop,” he said.
At that moment, the reporter felt a sting at his throat and watched as an object bounced to the ground near him. It was a rubber bullet. In a daze, Guzman-Lopez ran to a parking lot. A few people stopped to help him and noticed blood. “I went to my car to tell my editor what happened, and that’s when I tweeted the picture that’s gotten around,” he said.
The image shows a bloody red welt right at the base of Guzman-Lopez’s throat. (Guzman-Lopez is still recovering and provided audio of a 30-minute interview he recorded with National Public Radio.) He later described a sensation of feeling targeted — a radio reporter, at the source of his voice — for doing his job. “I felt it was a direct hit to my throat,” he said.
The Long Beach Police Department apologized and said it was investigating.
Attacks on journalists by police officers during the demonstrations that spread to all 50 states after the killing of George Floyd have alarmed the nation and brought renewed scrutiny on police practices before large crowds. According to watchdog groups, the hundreds of attacks against journalists documented on U.S. soil this spring amount to the most serious threat to 1st Amendment protections in recent history.
In Los Angeles, the images and videos showing journalists being targeted by law enforcement carried an extra prick of pain for anyone who knows the name of Ruben Salazar.
He was the Mexican American journalist whose trailblazing career at the L.A. Times coincided with the revolutionary fervor of the Chicano movement, the youth-led wave of activism and art that coalesced around opposition to the Vietnam War. On Aug. 29, 1970, Salazar was killed when a sheriff’s deputy shot a tear gas projectile into the covered doorway of a bar in the chaos of the police melee that followed the Chicano Moratorium march in East Los Angeles.
Salazar, 42, worked as an L.A. Times columnist and news director of the upstart Spanish-language news station KMEX at the time. He was sitting inside the Silver Dollar Bar and Cafe and was instantly killed when the projectile struck his head.
A National Chicano Moratorium march against the Vietnam War in East L.A. in 1970. (Los Angeles Times)
No journalists have been killed so far in the Black Lives Matter protests this year, but several have suffered serious injuries. And for many in Southern California, analogous elements between 1970 and 2020 are hard to ignore.
“When I saw Adolfo Guzman-Lopez post that picture of him shot in the neck, the first thing that popped into my mind was Ruben Salazar,” said Mekahlo Medina, a local broadcast journalist and a former president of the National Assn. of Hispanic Journalists.
“It worried me a lot,” Medina added, particularly because this year is the 50th anniversary of the movement known as the National Chicano Moratorium Committee Against the Vietnam War. “We certainly didn’t want to see another [case like] Ruben Salazar.”
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Salazar, one of the earliest nonwhite reporters ever published in the Los Angeles Times, built a storied career at the newspaper. He amplified issues facing the Mexican American community, which had long been demonized in the pages of the newspaper, and served for a time as bureau chief in Mexico City.
His death was ruled an accident after a public inquest that year and was reconfirmed as unintentional after an official review by the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department in 2011. Yet doubts about those conclusions linger five decades later. Today, the Ciudad Juarez-born Salazar is memorialized on a U.S. postage stamp and in a display in the Globe Lobby of the old L.A. Times building downtown. He is one of four Times journalists who’ve been killed while reporting in the nearly 140-year history of the newspaper.
On Tuesday, the Los Angeles County Board of Supervisors passed a motion unanimously that asserted the 1st Amendment rights of working journalists to document and investigate publicly relevant news events. The motion states that the board “opposes the targeting, harassment, use of excessive force, and arrest of members of the free press by the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department, Los Angeles Police Department, or any other law enforcement agency in Los Angeles County.”
A law enforcement officer discharges a weapon in the Fairfax District on May 30. (Kent Nishimura / Los Angeles Times)
The supervisors named specific cases of L.A.-based or L.A.-representing reporters who were injured or suffered damage to their equipment during the George Floyd protests in late May and early June, including Cerise Castle of KCRW (FM 89.9); Lexis-Olivier Ray, a photojournalist and reporter with L.A. Taco; UCLA student journalist Jintak Han; and L.A. Times staff photographer Luis Sinco, whose camera was destroyed by a rubber bullet.
“There was no warning, no,” Castle said of her case, in which Los Angeles police struck her at the May 30 protest in the Fairfax district. She spent several days on crutches afterwards. “No order to disperse, no one saying this was an unlawful assembly.”
The resolution also made note of injuries suffered by two other L.A. Times journalists while covering a protest outside a police precinct in Minneapolis, where Floyd was killed May 25. National correspondent Molly Hennessy-Fiske and veteran photojournalist Carolyn Cole documented their own injuries at the hands of the Minnesota State Patrol in pieces subsequently published by the newspaper. They said they were clearly identifiable as members of the press.
“An officer came so close I could feel the full force of the pepper spray go into my left ear and eye,” wrote Cole, a Pulitzer Prize winner who has covered conflict zones around the globe. “I’m very fortunate that this is the first time in 25 years at the L.A. Times that I’ve been injured. My left cornea has been damaged by the pepper spray, but I’m hoping it will heal quickly so I can get back to work.”
VIDEO | 00:27 Photographer Carolyn Cole: Struck with pepper spray while covering Floyd protests in Minneapolis Times photographer Carolyn Cole is struck with pepper spray by Minneapolis authorities Saturday while covering protests over George Floyd’s death.
Hennessy-Fiske was hit about six times in the leg by either rubber bullets or a tear-gas canister, she said, leading to swelling and bruising, seen in images she posted on Twitter. She’s back to work this week and is intent on staying focused on the story at large.
“I’m not going to stop reporting because this happened,” Hennessy-Fiske said. “If the message is, ‘Go home, don’t be reporting,’ my response is, ‘I’m going to keep reporting, and part of what I’m going to keep reporting on is you.’”
The Times is now sending reporters to cover demonstrations with helmets, in addition to the masks required because of the COVID-19 pandemic.
Local reporters and photographers said the chaotic days of late May and early June saw multiple incidents of police not respecting 1st Amendment freedoms as they sought to disperse or contain demonstrators. In some instances, police seemed unable or unwilling to differentiate between protesters and press. In addition, the reporters struck by law enforcement in L.A. County and cited by the county supervisors are all nonwhite.
Virginia Espino, a researcher who teaches at UCLA about the Chicano Moratorium and Salazar’s death, said the L.A. press attacks carried an undeniable racial factor. “I think some of those journalists got shot at because they weren’t blond,” Espino said. “Even if they had their press passes showing, they were viewed as one of the masses protesting at that time.”
“It’s something I’ve experienced, where law enforcement or people in authority question my credentials often,” said Castle of KCRW. “And it’s something I’ve seen happen to other journalists of color.”
Samanta Helou Hernandez, an L.A. freelance journalist and photographer, found herself detained by Los Angeles police June 2 after being chased by officers while covering a demonstration outside the Getty House, the official L.A. mayoral residence in Windsor Square. She said she repeatedly told police she was press. But as a freelancer, she was not carrying credentials issued by a news organization. So Helou Hernandez was corralled with demonstrators.
After talking to an officer, she said, “He basically said, ‘If you’re press you should have run toward the police,’ which to me sounded ridiculous. You’re telling me to charge toward the police while they’re in full riot gear, come on.”
She was also told that because she didn’t have credentials, she’d have to be taken downtown to “plead her case.” At that moment, she saw a colleague, Ray of L.A. Taco, who stepped in and pulled up journalistic work by Helou Hernandez to prove she was working press. “That’s when the tone really changed with how I was treated,” Helou Hernandez said.
In all, she was held for about an hour and a half.
The Committee to Protect Journalists is investigating at least 280 cases of attacks on U.S. news workers since May 29, “a number we have never seen in the United States,” the group said in an open letter to mayors and governors. The L.A. chapter of the Society of Professional Journalists also sent a statement to local law enforcement leaders urging them to respect press freedoms. The organization also called on Los Angeles County Dist. Atty. Jackie Lacey to prosecute offending officers.
In a statement, Los Angeles Police Capt. Giselle Espinoza, a commanding officer in the Media Relations Division, said the LAPD was “committed” to protecting those freedoms.
“The relationship with the media is very important to the LAPD,” Espinoza wrote. “We have made extensive efforts to work with reporters ensuring not only their safety, but also their ability to cover this important story.”
The Sheriff’s Department said it also stood by news media protections.
“The Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department strongly believes in the First Amendment and the right for our working press to safely cover events,” the department’s Information Bureau said in a statement.
But for Guzman-Lopez and others, questions remain. The images this year also recalled the so-called May Day melee of 2007, in which LAPD officers from the Metropolitan Division began attacking reporters and demonstrators, including families, after the customary May 1 festivities and rallies at MacArthur Park. After decades since the death of Ruben Salazar, have police agencies truly adopted a culture of protection for 1st Amendment rights?
“If you think about it, while I was being detained, I was unable to take photos, unable to report, so think about that information that was lost,” Helou Hernandez said. “You are hindering the press from doing their job, and from getting information out to people, so it’s incredibly dangerous.”
The officer who shot Guzman-Lopez has not been identified, said Arantxa Chavarria, a public information officer with the Long Beach Police Department. “Our chief of police, Robert Luna, spoke directly with Mr. Guzman-Lopez to express our apologies and to gain further insight into the circumstances of the incident,” she said.
“What was I doing to get shot at with a rubber bullet?” Guzman-Lopez asked. “Did the police officer miss? Was he aiming at someone behind me? Was he aiming at the African American man next to me? These people are pretty good shots, I suppose.”


latimes--2020-06-20--In Leimert Park, celebrating Juneteenth is more important than ever, pandemic or not

Leimert Park residents have been observing Juneteenth — the day in 1865 when Texas slaves belatedly learned they were free — since June 19 , 1949 , when local businessman began hosting traditional barbeques in his backyard .
This year , the celebration would be complicated by an invisible visitor : the dreaded coronavirus .
But it didn ’ t stop thousands of people from gathering Friday in Leimert Park , even if most of them wore the telltale masks of the COVID-19 era .
An unofficial American holiday , Juneteenth has been declared an official one in some U.S. @ @ @ @ @ @ @ following the death of George Floyd , who died after being handcuffed and pinned to the ground by the neck by a white Minneapolis police officer .
Moza Mjasiri Cooper , founder of the , has been holding the Juneteenth Heritage Festival in the South Los Angeles community for more than 10 years , but had decided to cancel this year ’ s two-day festival due to the coronavirus .
But when the killing of Floyd reinvigorated the Black Lives Matter movement , Tony Jolly , who works with Cooper ’ s nonprofit @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Juneteenth event this year more than ever .
“ I decided because of the current climate that we needed to hold the event , ” said Jolly , owner of Hot and Cool Cafe , which was the epicenter of Friday ’ s events .
“ People are thirsty for community now.
” This year ’ s event was called Leimert Park Rising x Pray for the Hood , the merging of two initiatives led respectively by Jolly , 45 , and Elijah Simmons , 23 , who is a local rap artist @ @ @ @ @ @ @ The two entrepreneurs said they wanted to bring all generations to the festival to celebrate Black history and culture .
“ I wanted to create a day that older generations could come and kids like 12 years old and under could celebrate their culture , and then leave inspired to strive for independence , ” he said .
The festival , which took place from 11 a.m. to 7 p.m. , featured live acts by local musicians and DJs such as singer Mereba , DJ Battlecat and more .
One performer danced and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Stenciled into the bus were the words The windows of the bus were covered with signs listing the names of Black people , such as Tamir Rice and Alton Sterling , who have died in encounters with police officers .
Children heaved basketballs at a hoop attached to the back of the school bus .
Several business owners opened their doors for attendees to shop and food trucks parked along Leimert Plaza Park .
Warren Todd , 29 , of View Park attended the festival with his mother and younger brother as a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ All of these food trucks , all the vendors in the middle [ and ] even the stores on the outside are all Black-owned , ” he said .
“ I just wanted to come and support the Black businesses and to keep our dollar in the Black community.
” Martin Thomas , 79 , has been celebrating Juneteenth in Leimert Park for more than 40 years , but said this year ’ s festival carried a different energy .
“ This is different because of all the protests they ’ ve been @ @ @ @ @ @ @ said .
He added that these celebrations open people ’ s eyes more to understand the meaning of Juneteenth .
Natalie Kline , 26 , said she learned about Juneteenth as an adult during a summer trip to Texas , where she worked as a lifeguard .
Kline , who is white , attended the Leimert Park festival for the first time with two friends , one white and the other Latina .
“ Today specifically , I think we wanted to be cautious because as a white person , we didn ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ co-opting this moment , ” she said .
“ This event was created for Black people by Black people .
We just want to be respectful because it ’ s not about us , but I think it ’ s really powerful to be here.
” Despite the racial tension that has ignited protests around the world , many people at the festival said they felt empowered and uplifted .
“ There ’ s a huge awakening , ” said Yannick “ Thurz ” Koffi , who performed music that reflected current times @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ d see people across the globe rise against racism and systemic oppression during my lifetime .
The energy is very different .
...
So to be in Leimert on Juneteenth is a blessing and a showing of the ever-growing movement for equity in this world.
” Attendees lined up to take photos and light candles at an art installation by Inglewood-based Sierra Hood , which featured an array of protest signs , photos of people killed by police officers and other prominent figures such as Kobe Bryant and Nipsey Hussle .
“ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ve been feeling , ” she said .
“ It means a lot because all of my friends are affected .
My sister is affected and I just can ’ t imagine losing one of them , so I really feel the need to cleanse and heal and pray , and I feel art and events like this really brings people together .
”

Leimert Park residents have been observing Juneteenth — the day in 1865 when Texas slaves belatedly learned they were free — since June 19, 1949, when local businessman Jonathan Leonard began hosting traditional barbeques in his backyard.
This year, the celebration would be complicated by an invisible visitor: the dreaded coronavirus. But it didn’t stop thousands of people from gathering Friday in Leimert Park, even if most of them wore the telltale masks of the COVID-19 era.
Dancing at the Juneteenth celebration in Leimert Park. (Wally Skalij / Los Angeles Times)
An unofficial American holiday, Juneteenth has been declared an official one in some U.S. states in response to the nationwide outrage following the death of George Floyd, who died after being handcuffed and pinned to the ground by the neck by a white Minneapolis police officer.
Moza Mjasiri Cooper, founder of the Black Arts Los Angeles , has been holding the Juneteenth Heritage Festival in the South Los Angeles community for more than 10 years, but had decided to cancel this year’s two-day festival due to the coronavirus. But when the killing of Floyd reinvigorated the Black Lives Matter movement, Tony Jolly, who works with Cooper’s nonprofit, declared that Black people needed the Juneteenth event this year more than ever.
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Tony Jolly, owner of Hot and Cool Cafe, during the Juneteenth bash in Leimert Park. (Brian van der Brug / Los Angeles Times)
“I decided because of the current climate that we needed to hold the event,” said Jolly, owner of Hot and Cool Cafe, which was the epicenter of Friday’s events. “People are thirsty for community now.”
This year’s event was called Leimert Park Rising x Pray for the Hood, the merging of two initiatives led respectively by Jolly, 45, and Elijah Simmons, 23, who is a local rap artist, clothing designer and community organizer. The two entrepreneurs said they wanted to bring all generations to the festival to celebrate Black history and culture.
“I wanted to create a day that older generations could come and kids like 12 years old and under could celebrate their culture, and then leave inspired to strive for independence,” he said.
Kirikou Muldrow, 8, walks with Nia Amir-Jolly, 4, at the Juneteenth event in Leimert Park. (Brian van der Brug / Los Angeles Times)
The festival, which took place from 11 a.m. to 7 p.m., featured live acts by local musicians and DJs such as singer Mereba, DJ Battlecat and more. One performer danced and sang atop a parked school bus. Stenciled into the bus were the words Rims of the World Unified Hoop District. The windows of the bus were covered with signs listing the names of Black people, such as Tamir Rice and Alton Sterling, who have died in encounters with police officers. Children heaved basketballs at a hoop attached to the back of the school bus.
Advertisement
Several business owners opened their doors for attendees to shop and food trucks parked along Leimert Plaza Park.
A basketball game during the Juneteenth celebration. (Wally Skalij / Los Angeles Times)
Warren Todd, 29, of View Park attended the festival with his mother and younger brother as a way to support the neighborhood.
“All of these food trucks, all the vendors in the middle [and] even the stores on the outside are all Black-owned,” he said. “I just wanted to come and support the Black businesses and to keep our dollar in the Black community.”
Gerald Hunter sings along with entertainer Rickie Byars. (Brian van der Brug / Los Angeles Times)
Martin Thomas, 79, has been celebrating Juneteenth in Leimert Park for more than 40 years, but said this year’s festival carried a different energy.
“This is different because of all the protests they’ve been doing,” the Leimert Park resident said. He added that these celebrations open people’s eyes more to understand the meaning of Juneteenth.
Natalie Kline, 26, said she learned about Juneteenth as an adult during a summer trip to Texas, where she worked as a lifeguard. Kline, who is white, attended the Leimert Park festival for the first time with two friends, one white and the other Latina.
“Today specifically, I think we wanted to be cautious because as a white person, we didn’t want to seem like we were co-opting this moment,” she said. “This event was created for Black people by Black people. We just want to be respectful because it’s not about us, but I think it’s really powerful to be here.”
Rickie Byars performs at the Juneteenth celebration. (Brian van der Brug / Los Angeles Times)
Despite the racial tension that has ignited protests around the world, many people at the festival said they felt empowered and uplifted.
“There’s a huge awakening,” said Yannick “Thurz” Koffi, who performed music that reflected current times.”I never knew when I’d see people across the globe rise against racism and systemic oppression during my lifetime. The energy is very different. ... So to be in Leimert on Juneteenth is a blessing and a showing of the ever-growing movement for equity in this world.”
Sierra Hood is reflected in a mirror on her “Pray for the Hood” in Leimert Park. (Brian van der Brug / Los Angeles Times)
Attendees lined up to take photos and light candles at an art installation by Inglewood-based Sierra Hood, which featured an array of protest signs, photos of people killed by police officers and other prominent figures such as Kobe Bryant and Nipsey Hussle.
“I wanted to share how I’ve been feeling,” she said. “It means a lot because all of my friends are affected. My sister is affected and I just can’t imagine losing one of them, so I really feel the need to cleanse and heal and pray, and I feel art and events like this really brings people together.”


latimes--2020-06-20--Bars are open, but masks are required? Shifting coronavirus rules stir confusion

After months of warning people to stay home to slow the spread of the deadly coronavirus , California officials have coalesced around a softer approach aimed at allowing the economy to bounce back while also trying to prevent new infections .
It ’ s a strategy , however , that has often played out in seemingly haphazard and contradictory ways .
On Thursday , California logged more cases of the coronavirus than on any day before and Gov .
Gavin Newsom ordered that all Californians wear masks when they leave the house or else jeopardize “ the real progress we @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Later that day , officials in Los Angeles County , the center of the state ’ s outbreak , announced that bars , nail salons and massage parlors could resume business .
Last week , officials announced that increasing transmission of COVID-19 in L.A. County could soon prompt a shortage of intensive care unit beds — and that they would allow gyms and museums to reopen .
Officials say they are carefully balancing the needs of the economy with public health to be able to safely resume normal life , but the recent @ @ @ @ @ @ @ is and isn ’ t dangerous — and whom they can trust .
“ None of us are scientists , none of us are doctors , and even the doctors and the scientists are telling us something different every day , ” said Joanna Duff , a singer-songwriter who lives in the Hollywood Hills .
“ You just don ’ t really know what to believe.
” Medical experts emphasize that nothing about the virus has changed : It is still deadly and circulating in the community .
Public health policies driven by @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , can muddle that message and also erode trust in the government , both major problems during a pandemic , experts say .
“ I think it ’ s disingenuous to say they ’ re trying to do it for health reasons when they ’ re doing it for the exact opposite , ” said Dr. Ernest Rasyidi , a psychiatrist with St. Joseph Hospital-Orange .
“ Trust is very hard to gain , and it ’ s very easy to lose.
” In March , officials ordered widespread shutdowns in part because @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the coronavirus was spreading , so they were forced to halt as much contact between people as possible .
The decisions led to a total disruption of daily life as well as record-high unemployment levels .
The strategy California officials have now adopted is to resume daily life , but with precautions based on what we have learned so far about the coronavirus .
While widely supported , the decision is ultimately a compromise between public health and the economy , given that any reopening is expected to lead to more people falling @ @ @ @ @ @ @ sign that reopening has gone too far will not be when case counts begin to tick up , but when they appear to be surging so high they could overwhelm hospitals .
Barbara Ferrer , director of public health for Los Angeles County , said Friday that case counts have remained fairly stable recently , despite large protests and businesses reopening .
“ We need to be particularly careful to do everything we can .
...
I think if we can do that , we ’ ll continue to have success with the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ I hope we never get to the place where we ’ re closing things down.
” The last few months have shown that people are most likely to become infected in crowded indoor spaces , particularly following prolonged contact with someone who is ill .
Wearing masks as well as being outdoors appear to reduce transmission , though it is unclear how much .
Outbreaks in the coming months will likely provide more information , experts say .
“ We ’ re still seeing multiple , multiple versions of what we call natural @ @ @ @ @ @ @ operating differently , ” said San Diego State University epidemiologist Eyal Oren .
“ We don ’ t really know the effects of it yet.
” In L.A. County , that approach makes Lorrainy Rosario feel like a lab rat .
Since March , she has left her South L.A. apartment only to go on walks because she worries that the virus could put her , as an asthmatic , in serious danger .
But the clothing store where she worked at before the shutdowns is reopening next week , and she is @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
She doesn ’ t want to find a new job , but may consider it if she feels the business ’ precautions are not sufficient .
“ At the end of the day , it is my health .
I wouldn ’ t want to put myself in too much danger , ” she said .
Rosario and others point out the inconsistencies they see in the policies .
In L.A. County , friends can easily meet up at a store or a restaurant , but officials warn that it would be @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in a home .
The guidelines for gyms require that people wear masks when they enter , but they can take them off when they are actually exercising , and breathing most deeply .
Selena Leong , who lives in Hollywood , said her favorite restaurant reopened recently and she feels for the business owners and workers ; she lost her own job during the pandemic .
But she doesn ’ t think it makes sense to go back to the restaurant anytime soon , she said .
“ I ’ ve been @ @ @ @ @ @ @ much more likely to get it in an enclosed restaurant than sitting outside in someone ’ s backyard , ” she said .
“ To me , that is a risk not worth taking for sushi just yet.
” The tension is in part driven by a shift into what public health experts call “ harm reduction , ” an approach that gives people the tools to protect themselves from risky behaviors , instead of trying to stop the behaviors altogether .
This is the philosophy behind providing teenagers with condoms and sex @ @ @ @ @ @ @ COVID-19 , it means allowing things to open up while also encouraging people to maintain social distancing , hand washing and mask-wearing — all tools to reduce the chance of catching the virus .
But the public ’ s understanding of which tools are truly useful has been somewhat muddled by politics , said Kevin Malotte , a Cal State Long Beach professor emeritus of epidemiology .
He cited officials in Orange County rescinding an order to wear masks amid pressure and many public health experts supporting protests against systemic racism that , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , were not always socially distanced .
Either could embolden people who already didn ’ t want to take precautions to become more lax , he said .
Further adding to the confusion is the constant stream of news about COVID-19 , as well as the influx of scientific papers and research .
The public isn ’ t used to seeing guidance change on a weekly basis , especially when it comes to science , where research typically moves slowly .
“ There ’ s been so much fluctuating guidance and fluctuating statistics @ @ @ @ @ @ @ as a result we ’ re kind of in the middle of the first draft of the science of COVID , ” said Dr. Michael Brodsky , medical director of behavioral health at L.A. Care Health Plan .
“ I ’ m a physician and I ’ m confused myself.
” Osirus Polachart , 22 , says the reopenings haven ’ t changed his behavior .
He has sacrificed a lot these past months ; the pandemic stripped him of his community college graduation and his summer internship in Washington , D.C .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ they drove by for his birthday .
He had missed them dearly , but talked to them outside from several feet away .
But he sees that people around him are emboldened by what they have interpreted as a defeat of the virus .
One of his friends just took a vacation to Arizona , where coronavirus cases are skyrocketing .
His own mother , who is skeptical the virus is a serious threat , is flying to North Carolina to visit family this week .
“ I ’ ve gotten tired of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” Polachart said .
“ Do I feel frustrated that all of this happened ?
Yes .
Do I feel frustrated that a lot of people are doing what they ’ re not supposed to be doing ?
Sort of , but it ’ s out of my control .
”

After being forced to close for three months, California nail salons were allowed to reopen Friday under state law. Above, owner Crystal Trang Luong at Captivate Nail Spa in Fullerton.
After months of warning people to stay home to slow the spread of the deadly coronavirus, California officials have coalesced around a softer approach aimed at allowing the economy to bounce back while also trying to prevent new infections.
It’s a strategy, however, that has often played out in seemingly haphazard and contradictory ways.
On Thursday, California logged more cases of the coronavirus than on any day before and Gov. Gavin Newsom ordered that all Californians wear masks when they leave the house or else jeopardize “the real progress we have made in fighting the disease.”
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Later that day, officials in Los Angeles County, the center of the state’s outbreak, announced that bars, nail salons and massage parlors could resume business. Last week, officials announced that increasing transmission of COVID-19 in L.A. County could soon prompt a shortage of intensive care unit beds — and that they would allow gyms and museums to reopen.
Officials say they are carefully balancing the needs of the economy with public health to be able to safely resume normal life, but the recent announcements have left many confused about what is and isn’t dangerous — and whom they can trust.
“None of us are scientists, none of us are doctors, and even the doctors and the scientists are telling us something different every day,” said Joanna Duff, a singer-songwriter who lives in the Hollywood Hills. “You just don’t really know what to believe.”
Medical experts emphasize that nothing about the virus has changed: It is still deadly and circulating in the community. Public health policies driven by economics and politics, though sometimes necessary, can muddle that message and also erode trust in the government, both major problems during a pandemic, experts say.
“I think it’s disingenuous to say they’re trying to do it for health reasons when they’re doing it for the exact opposite,” said Dr. Ernest Rasyidi, a psychiatrist with St. Joseph Hospital-Orange. “Trust is very hard to gain, and it’s very easy to lose.”
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In March, officials ordered widespread shutdowns in part because scientists didn’t fully understand how the coronavirus was spreading, so they were forced to halt as much contact between people as possible. The decisions led to a total disruption of daily life as well as record-high unemployment levels.
The strategy California officials have now adopted is to resume daily life, but with precautions based on what we have learned so far about the coronavirus. While widely supported, the decision is ultimately a compromise between public health and the economy, given that any reopening is expected to lead to more people falling sick and dying.
Officials’ warning sign that reopening has gone too far will not be when case counts begin to tick up, but when they appear to be surging so high they could overwhelm hospitals.
Barbara Ferrer, director of public health for Los Angeles County, said Friday that case counts have remained fairly stable recently, despite large protests and businesses reopening.
“We need to be particularly careful to do everything we can. ... I think if we can do that, we’ll continue to have success with the reopening,” she said. “I hope we never get to the place where we’re closing things down.”
The last few months have shown that people are most likely to become infected in crowded indoor spaces, particularly following prolonged contact with someone who is ill. Wearing masks as well as being outdoors appear to reduce transmission, though it is unclear how much. Outbreaks in the coming months will likely provide more information, experts say.
“We’re still seeing multiple, multiple versions of what we call natural experiments playing out where different places are operating differently,” said San Diego State University epidemiologist Eyal Oren. “We don’t really know the effects of it yet.”
In L.A. County, that approach makes Lorrainy Rosario feel like a lab rat. Since March, she has left her South L.A. apartment only to go on walks because she worries that the virus could put her, as an asthmatic, in serious danger.
But the clothing store where she worked at before the shutdowns is reopening next week, and she is worried it won’t be safe. She doesn’t want to find a new job, but may consider it if she feels the business’ precautions are not sufficient.
“At the end of the day, it is my health. I wouldn’t want to put myself in too much danger,” she said.
Rosario and others point out the inconsistencies they see in the policies. In L.A. County, friends can easily meet up at a store or a restaurant, but officials warn that it would be dangerous for those same people to gather in a home. The guidelines for gyms require that people wear masks when they enter, but they can take them off when they are actually exercising, and breathing most deeply.
Selena Leong, who lives in Hollywood, said her favorite restaurant reopened recently and she feels for the business owners and workers; she lost her own job during the pandemic.
But she doesn’t think it makes sense to go back to the restaurant anytime soon, she said.
“I’ve been reading the stats — you’re much more likely to get it in an enclosed restaurant than sitting outside in someone’s backyard,” she said. “To me, that is a risk not worth taking for sushi just yet.”
The tension is in part driven by a shift into what public health experts call “harm reduction,” an approach that gives people the tools to protect themselves from risky behaviors, instead of trying to stop the behaviors altogether. This is the philosophy behind providing teenagers with condoms and sex education instead of promoting abstinence.
With COVID-19, it means allowing things to open up while also encouraging people to maintain social distancing, hand washing and mask-wearing — all tools to reduce the chance of catching the virus. But the public’s understanding of which tools are truly useful has been somewhat muddled by politics, said Kevin Malotte, a Cal State Long Beach professor emeritus of epidemiology.
He cited officials in Orange County rescinding an order to wear masks amid pressure and many public health experts supporting protests against systemic racism that, though also addressing a major health issue, were not always socially distanced.
Either could embolden people who already didn’t want to take precautions to become more lax, he said.
Further adding to the confusion is the constant stream of news about COVID-19, as well as the influx of scientific papers and research. The public isn’t used to seeing guidance change on a weekly basis, especially when it comes to science, where research typically moves slowly.
“There’s been so much fluctuating guidance and fluctuating statistics ... The science is new, and as a result we’re kind of in the middle of the first draft of the science of COVID,” said Dr. Michael Brodsky, medical director of behavioral health at L.A. Care Health Plan. “I’m a physician and I’m confused myself.”
Osirus Polachart, 22, says the reopenings haven’t changed his behavior. He has sacrificed a lot these past months; the pandemic stripped him of his community college graduation and his summer internship in Washington, D.C.
He saw his friends last week when they drove by for his birthday. He had missed them dearly, but talked to them outside from several feet away.
But he sees that people around him are emboldened by what they have interpreted as a defeat of the virus. One of his friends just took a vacation to Arizona, where coronavirus cases are skyrocketing. His own mother, who is skeptical the virus is a serious threat, is flying to North Carolina to visit family this week.
“I’ve gotten tired of trying to explain it to them,” Polachart said. “Do I feel frustrated that all of this happened? Yes. Do I feel frustrated that a lot of people are doing what they’re not supposed to be doing? Sort of, but it’s out of my control.”


latimes--2020-06-20--Post-coronavirus lockdown, customers welcome back a Fullerton nail salon, precautions and all

As soon as the salon doors opened , customers with ragged , discolored nails streamed in Friday , heading for the socially distanced chairs .
But first , Christina Dinh stepped up to take their temperatures .
Inside the narrow , spotless Captivate Nail & Spa , she asked them to sign a form affirming the risks of a COVID-19 outbreak and that they did not show symptoms — agreeing to release the Fullerton shop from legal claim in case of infection .
Then she directed each person to wash her hands .
Behind Dinh , her mother , owner @ @ @ @ @ @ @ toes of a junior accountant who said she was grateful to have “ presentable feet , ” just in time to ease into leather summer sandals .
Friday unfolded as a reopening for nail salons , nearly 100 days after the businesses shut down , eventually getting the go-ahead from California Gov .
Gavin Newsom .
Many resumed operations with face shields , foot shields , table shields and all manner of set-up , training and safeguards now required to keep manicurists and clients as protected as possible under guidelines from the state @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and Prevention .
“ Whatever they require is what we do .
I ’ m not thinking so much about cost — though , yes , there ’ s three months of back rent waiting to be paid and not having the income to cover it , ” Luong , 48 , said .
“ I ’ m thinking mainly about safety .
If we can ’ t offer it , how will we all survive ?
” Just five months after Luong bought the salon , scrimping to save and borrowing money @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the novel coronavirus forced her to shut down on March 17 .
Stuck at home , she obsessively followed the news , searching for clues for when her industry could reopen .
She said it saddened her to hear that community spread of the virus originated from a nail salon , as Newsom announced in May .
By June , his staff had said that was a mistake , promising to help push for reopening as part of Phase 3 , when state officials allowed personal services and its employees to return to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ gyms , massage therapists and nail salons , with California home to 11,000 such salons , 80 % owned by Vietnamese Americans .
“ You know , I ’ m ecstatic ” salons are back .
“ I can ’ t wait to tell my mom , ” said Joanne Bockian , 70 , who ’ s been coming to Captivate once a month .
She made an appointment to surprise her mother who turns 96 in July , who “ gets such a treat out of our mani-pedis , ” said the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ parent in Fullerton weekly .
“ They ’ re very good at pampering here and they have nice touches , talking softly and helping her to put her shoes back on , ” said Bockian , choosing a slot when it ’ s not as crowded to prioritize the health of the elderly .
As Dinh sanitized a spa chair , a woman munching on an apple appeared , asking for an impromptu manicure .
She did not need to wear a mask or sign any forms , she said , because she @ @ @ @ @ @ @ don ’ t require us to do that , either.
” “ I ’ m so sorry , Miss , we can not provide you service , ” Dinh , 22 , responded .
The stranger left , returning five minutes later , huffing behind a mask .
The phone kept ringing , clients were constantly booking .
“ You interact with all types of personalities , ” said Dinh , Luong ’ s eldest child , a nursing student .
Growing up , she watched her mom accept short-term jobs doing nails @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the family .
Her machinist dad recently signed up for shifts every day to bring in income as an essential worker .
Her mother and father came from Vietnam ’ s central highlands of Da Lat , and after immigrating to the U.S. in their 20s , they discovered they were neighbors in Orange County .
Luong ’ s family was sharing a bar of soap for personal grooming , her daughter recalled , “ until my dad introduced them to shampoo and conditioner .
They didn ’ t even know what that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ And now , she ’ s running her own business.
” Sergio Martinez , an Auto Zone sales manager , and his wife , Diana , are regular customers .
They , too , alluded to the dedication of the nail techs and the comforting air of the salon , saying , “ We are welcomed sincerely , like family.
” “ We need to give higher tips , all that time they were out of work , ” said Martinez , 34 , of Anaheim .
As he settled back for his @ @ @ @ @ @ @ pedicure complete with callous removal , sea salt treatment and massage , he noted : “ It ’ s not the same when you have to clean your own toes .
They get right in there.
” Kathy Ong , the employee working with his feet and a five-year nails veteran , said she “ counted the days to return to the salon because staying at home means staying in an economic bind .
You have few choices.
” A new study released by the California Healthy Nail Salon Collaborative , partnering with @ @ @ @ @ @ @ among more than 700 salon employees and owners surveyed during COVID-19 , only 6 % of owners were able to keep their workers on payroll .
More than 90 % of workers applied for unemployment benefits , and almost half needed support , including translation , to complete their applications .
Brittney Robertson , lounging on a spa chair as Ong now turned to scrape her cuticles , sympathized with the workers ’ plight .
“ Society is suffering , which is why doing your nails is a welcomed break , ” she @ @ @ @ @ @ @ graced with an Alice in Wonderland tattoo .
She and Dinh stayed connected as she awaited salon services .
“ We were constantly messaging over their Instagram : ‘ How many more days ?
’ ” said the Kaiser nursing assistant , 29 , recalling their exchanges .
“ Once you ’ re established with ... people , you don ’ t want to go anywhere else .
”

Crystal Trang Luong, wearing gloves, a face shield and mask, bought the salon in Fullerton only five months before the coronavirus caused her to shut down.
As soon as the salon doors opened, customers with ragged, discolored nails streamed in Friday, heading for the socially distanced chairs.
But first, Christina Dinh stepped up to take their temperatures. Inside the narrow, spotless Captivate Nail & Spa, she asked them to sign a form affirming the risks of a COVID-19 outbreak and that they did not show symptoms — agreeing to release the Fullerton shop from legal claim in case of infection. Then she directed each person to wash her hands.
Behind Dinh, her mother, owner Crystal Trang Luong, scrubbed the magenta-flecked toes of a junior accountant who said she was grateful to have “presentable feet,” just in time to ease into leather summer sandals.
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Friday unfolded as a reopening for nail salons, nearly 100 days after the businesses shut down, eventually getting the go-ahead from California Gov. Gavin Newsom. Many resumed operations with face shields, foot shields, table shields and all manner of set-up, training and safeguards now required to keep manicurists and clients as protected as possible under guidelines from the state and the federal Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.
Melissa Alatorre, left, gets her temperature checked by Christine Dinh and signs a release before getting her nails done. (Carolyn Cole / Los Angeles Times)
“Whatever they require is what we do. I’m not thinking so much about cost — though, yes, there’s three months of back rent waiting to be paid and not having the income to cover it,” Luong, 48, said. “I’m thinking mainly about safety. If we can’t offer it, how will we all survive?”
Just five months after Luong bought the salon, scrimping to save and borrowing money from her sister-in-law, the surge of the novel coronavirus forced her to shut down on March 17. Stuck at home, she obsessively followed the news, searching for clues for when her industry could reopen.
She said it saddened her to hear that community spread of the virus originated from a nail salon, as Newsom announced in May. By June, his staff had said that was a mistake, promising to help push for reopening as part of Phase 3, when state officials allowed personal services and its employees to return to work. Friday was the day for gyms, massage therapists and nail salons, with California home to 11,000 such salons, 80% owned by Vietnamese Americans.
“You know, I’m ecstatic” salons are back. “I can’t wait to tell my mom,” said Joanne Bockian, 70, who’s been coming to Captivate once a month. She made an appointment to surprise her mother who turns 96 in July, who “gets such a treat out of our mani-pedis,” said the San Gabriel Valley resident who visits her parent in Fullerton weekly.
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“They’re very good at pampering here and they have nice touches, talking softly and helping her to put her shoes back on,” said Bockian, choosing a slot when it’s not as crowded to prioritize the health of the elderly.
Manicurist David Ngo, wearing gloves, works on the nails of a client on the first day of reopening at Captivate Nail & Spa in Fullerton. (Carolyn Cole / Los Angeles Times)
As Dinh sanitized a spa chair, a woman munching on an apple appeared, asking for an impromptu manicure. She did not need to wear a mask or sign any forms, she said, because she “works for the government and they don’t require us to do that, either.”
“I’m so sorry, Miss, we cannot provide you service,” Dinh, 22, responded. The stranger left, returning five minutes later, huffing behind a mask. The phone kept ringing, clients were constantly booking.
“You interact with all types of personalities,” said Dinh, Luong’s eldest child, a nursing student. Growing up, she watched her mom accept short-term jobs doing nails in Arizona and North Carolina to support the family. Her machinist dad recently signed up for shifts every day to bring in income as an essential worker.
Her mother and father came from Vietnam’s central highlands of Da Lat, and after immigrating to the U.S. in their 20s, they discovered they were neighbors in Orange County. Luong’s family was sharing a bar of soap for personal grooming, her daughter recalled, “until my dad introduced them to shampoo and conditioner. They didn’t even know what that was,” Dinh said. “And now, she’s running her own business.”
Sergio Martinez, an Auto Zone sales manager, and his wife, Diana, are regular customers. They, too, alluded to the dedication of the nail techs and the comforting air of the salon, saying, “We are welcomed sincerely, like family.”
“We need to give higher tips, all that time they were out of work,” said Martinez, 34, of Anaheim. As he settled back for his favorite treatment, a $26 deluxe pedicure complete with callous removal, sea salt treatment and massage, he noted: “It’s not the same when you have to clean your own toes. They get right in there.”
Kathy Ong, the employee working with his feet and a five-year nails veteran, said she “counted the days to return to the salon because staying at home means staying in an economic bind. You have few choices.”
A new study released by the California Healthy Nail Salon Collaborative, partnering with the UCLA Labor Center, revealed that among more than 700 salon employees and owners surveyed during COVID-19, only 6% of owners were able to keep their workers on payroll. More than 90% of workers applied for unemployment benefits, and almost half needed support, including translation, to complete their applications.
Diana Martinez gets her nails done, she’s a loyal customer who stops by every three week. The Anaheim resident said she “felt awful” for employees for “being out of work for so long. I’m so happy to see them.” (Carolyn Cole / Los Angeles Times)
Brittney Robertson, lounging on a spa chair as Ong now turned to scrape her cuticles, sympathized with the workers’ plight. “Society is suffering, which is why doing your nails is a welcomed break,” she said, flexing her left leg, graced with an Alice in Wonderland tattoo. She and Dinh stayed connected as she awaited salon services.
“We were constantly messaging over their Instagram: ‘How many more days?’ ” said the Kaiser nursing assistant, 29, recalling their exchanges. “Once you’re established with ... people, you don’t want to go anywhere else.”