latimes--2020-08-14--California's coronavirus response has been hampered by high-level resignations

The sudden departure this week of California ’ s public health officer is intensifying instability in the state ’ s vital health departments as they struggle with crushing workloads and navigating the worst health crisis in a century , according to interviews with current and former healthcare and government officials .
Dr. Sonia Angell stepped down from the California Department of Public Health on Sunday after only 10 months in the job .
Her second-in-command , who led the state ’ s testing task force , left in July .
The resignations add to a list of more than a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ departed over the last year , raising concerns that the upheaval is threatening the state ’ s response at a critical time .
“ We ’ re going to run out of people , ” state Sen. Richard Pan ( D-Sacramento ) said of the turnover in the state ’ s public health infrastructure .
“ How many people do you think are qualified to be California ’ s [ public health ] director that are floating around out there in the whole country ?
It ’ s not a very large pool @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to churn through them like this , we ’ re going to be in big trouble — if we ’ re not already in big trouble.
” The numerous changes have increased pressure on California ’ s underfunded state health departments as they try to keep pace with the governor ’ s flurry of announcements on new guidelines , programs and policy changes , which one former agency official likened to a daily fire drill .
Public health leaders at the state and county levels have also become a target of hostility over @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , four people have worked as director of the Department of Health Care Services , which oversees the state ’ s MediCal healthcare program that serves 13 million low-income and vulnerable residents .
When the director of the California Department of Managed Health Care retired last month , the acting chief deputy director of the department stepped in to fill both roles .
The exodus includes holdovers from former Gov .
Jerry Brown ’ s administration that Newsom was slow to replace .
Others have left under more unexpected circumstances .
Newsom tapped @ @ @ @ @ @ @ health official , to lead the California Department of Public Health in September .
She faced a steep learning curve in a state with thorny healthcare politics .
Many of her predecessors had served previously as county public health officers .
Angell played a supporting role at Newsom ’ s first press conference on the COVID-19 pandemic in late February , describing common symptoms of the virus and reassuring Californians that the risk to the general public remained low with only 33 confirmed cases in the state .
But over time she made @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to Dr. Mark Ghaly , the secretary of Health and Human Services .
When Newsom inaccurately described a drop in positive COVID-19 cases last week , it was Ghaly who went in front of the camera the next day and disclosed the massive data error in a system overseen by Angell ’ s department .
Later , Ghaly said Newsom “ directed a full investigation of what happened and we will hold people accountable.
” Angell abruptly resigned on Sunday , effective immediately .
The following day , Newsom refused to directly address @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , but added that “ if it ’ s not obvious , then , I encourage you to consider the fact that we accepted the resignation.
” “ We ’ re all accountable in our respective roles for what happens underneath us , ” he said .
Newsom emphasized that he was unaware of the data problem when he touted the decrease .
Little has been publicly shared about the events leading up to Angell ’ s departure other than the existence of data errors in the system she oversaw .
For some @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ This is a near-impossible job to do well in normal times , ” said Dr. Richard Jackson , a former California state health officer under then-Gov .
Arnold Schwarzenegger and professor emeritus at UCLA ’ s Fielding School of Public Health .
Jackson said those in the state ’ s public health officer role have long been hindered when responding to emergencies due to layers of bureaucracy , including inflexible rules for adjusting spending .
Add noncompetitive salaries for medical , scientific and data management staff with a cumbersome hiring process and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ he said .
The failure of the California Reportable Disease Information Exchange , the state ’ s electronic disease reporting and surveillance system , didn ’ t come as a surprise to those familiar with it .
The system , known as CalREDIE , was not originally built to handle both positive and negative test results or a large volume of information from many labs , said Karen Smith , who preceded Angell and was appointed director of the California Department of Public Health in 2015 by Brown .
“ We ’ ve @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the laboratory reporting system and the case management functionality of CalREDIE virtually since it was begun , ” Smith said .
While Ghaly has said human error added to the problem , Smith said a “ tiny ” group of people are managing hundreds of data systems within the state ’ s public health department .
Jackson said Angell was put in an untenable situation .
“ I have a feeling Dr. Angell was blamed for a rickety system , ” Jackson said .
“ There needs to be an aggressive look at @ @ @ @ @ @ @ first time a top health official has left state service following controversy .
Jennifer Kent , director of the state Department of Health Care Services , resigned under pressure in September after she criticized vaccine bill protesters on her private Facebook page .
Kent was temporarily replaced on an interim basis by Newsom ’ s deputy Cabinet secretary , Richard Figureroa Jr. , that month .
In late January , Newsom named Dr. Brad Gilbert the new director , having pulled the former chief executive officer of the Inland Empire Health Plan out @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Gilbert resigned .
In June , Newsom appointed Will Lightbourne to Gilbert ’ s former role , the fourth person to hold the position in nine months .
Lightbourne , 70 , had retired in 2018 as director of the state Department of Social Services .
In addition to Gilbert , Angell ’ s resignation from the Department of Public Health on Sunday came on the heels of other key departures .
Last month , Dr. Charity Dean , the department ’ s second in command , stepped down .
Their departures were @ @ @ @ @ @ @ than a half dozen county public health officers during the pandemic .
“ People say it ’ s a marathon , not a sprint , but quite frankly you ’ ve got to feel like you ’ re sprinting for an entire marathon because it just keeps coming , ” Smith said .
“ There is no question that the degree of stress has increased the number of people who ’ ve chosen to retire and or who left.
” Angell ’ s job responsibilities will be split between two women , state @ @ @ @ @ @ @ over as acting director of the Department of Public Health , and Dr. Erica Pan will become the acting state public health officer after having joined California ’ s public health department in June as the state ’ s epidemiologist .
Shewry , who is vice president at the nonprofit California Health Care Foundation , previously oversaw the state ’ s Medi-Cal program under Schwarzenegger .
Pan , who was previously Alameda County ’ s health officer , notably clashed with Tesla Chief Executive Elon Musk in May over his electric car factory @ @ @ @ @ @ @ shelter-at-home orders at the time .
Smith said state law prevents the administration from splitting the state public health officer and director roles on anything more than a temporary basis , indicating another shift at the top ranks of the health department is on the horizon .
The changes come as some counties and business groups complain about an inconsistent pandemic response .
Many note that the lack of strong leadership at the national level has placed an undue burden on the state , but say it ’ s difficult to get clear @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Michelin , president of the California Retailers Assn.
, said her group has tried to engage with public health officials to understand how counties can get off the state ’ s watch list .
The list determines which counties have to close gyms , shopping malls and other businesses .
It was frozen over a week ago in light of the data problems .
“ We ’ re trying to figure out what ’ s the path and the Department of Public Health just hasn ’ t been responsive , ” Michelin said @ @ @ @ @ @ @ And it does seem like the rules keep changing in the middle of the game.
” Matt Willis , a public health officer in Marin County , said the data problem , the rapid spread of the virus and resignations of top leaders have left California in “ a vulnerable position.
” “ We are coming out of a month and a half of significantly elevated transmission across the state and a lot of dynamic changes and policies to try and match that , ” Willis said.
`` The ground has been shifting @ @ @ @ @ @ @ this is another stress for us as a state .
”

The sudden departure this week of California’s public health officer is intensifying instability in the state’s vital health departments as they struggle with crushing workloads and navigating the worst health crisis in a century, according to interviews with current and former healthcare and government officials.
Dr. Sonia Angell stepped down from the California Department of Public Health on Sunday after only 10 months in the job. Her second-in-command, who led the state’s testing task force, left in July. The resignations add to a list of more than a half dozen top health officials who have departed over the last year, raising concerns that the upheaval is threatening the state’s response at a critical time.
“We’re going to run out of people,” state Sen. Richard Pan (D-Sacramento) said of the turnover in the state’s public health infrastructure. “How many people do you think are qualified to be California’s [public health] director that are floating around out there in the whole country? It’s not a very large pool. And if we’re going to churn through them like this, we’re going to be in big trouble — if we’re not already in big trouble.”
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The numerous changes have increased pressure on California’s underfunded state health departments as they try to keep pace with the governor’s flurry of announcements on new guidelines, programs and policy changes, which one former agency official likened to a daily fire drill. Public health leaders at the state and county levels have also become a target of hostility over business and mask restrictions.
Since September, four people have worked as director of the Department of Health Care Services, which oversees the state’s MediCal healthcare program that serves 13 million low-income and vulnerable residents.
When the director of the California Department of Managed Health Care retired last month, the acting chief deputy director of the department stepped in to fill both roles.
The exodus includes holdovers from former Gov. Jerry Brown’s administration that Newsom was slow to replace. Others have left under more unexpected circumstances.
Newsom tapped Angell, a former New York City health official, to lead the California Department of Public Health in September. She faced a steep learning curve in a state with thorny healthcare politics. Many of her predecessors had served previously as county public health officers.
Angell played a supporting role at Newsom’s first press conference on the COVID-19 pandemic in late February, describing common symptoms of the virus and reassuring Californians that the risk to the general public remained low with only 33 confirmed cases in the state. But over time she made fewer appearances as Newsom turned more often to Dr. Mark Ghaly, the secretary of Health and Human Services.
When Newsom inaccurately described a drop in positive COVID-19 cases last week, it was Ghaly who went in front of the camera the next day and disclosed the massive data error in a system overseen by Angell’s department. Later, Ghaly said Newsom “directed a full investigation of what happened and we will hold people accountable.”
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Angell abruptly resigned on Sunday, effective immediately. The following day, Newsom refused to directly address whether he asked her to step down, but added that “if it’s not obvious, then, I encourage you to consider the fact that we accepted the resignation.”
“We’re all accountable in our respective roles for what happens underneath us,” he said. Newsom emphasized that he was unaware of the data problem when he touted the decrease.
Little has been publicly shared about the events leading up to Angell’s departure other than the existence of data errors in the system she oversaw. For some, the departure felt too rash.
“This is a near-impossible job to do well in normal times,” said Dr. Richard Jackson, a former California state health officer under then-Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger and professor emeritus at UCLA’s Fielding School of Public Health.
Jackson said those in the state’s public health officer role have long been hindered when responding to emergencies due to layers of bureaucracy, including inflexible rules for adjusting spending. Add noncompetitive salaries for medical, scientific and data management staff with a cumbersome hiring process and it creates a nightmare for recruiting, he said.
The failure of the California Reportable Disease Information Exchange, the state’s electronic disease reporting and surveillance system, didn’t come as a surprise to those familiar with it.
The system, known as CalREDIE, was not originally built to handle both positive and negative test results or a large volume of information from many labs, said Karen Smith, who preceded Angell and was appointed director of the California Department of Public Health in 2015 by Brown.
“We’ve been trying to get funding to improve the laboratory reporting system and the case management functionality of CalREDIE virtually since it was begun,” Smith said.
While Ghaly has said human error added to the problem, Smith said a “tiny” group of people are managing hundreds of data systems within the state’s public health department.
Jackson said Angell was put in an untenable situation.
“I have a feeling Dr. Angell was blamed for a rickety system,” Jackson said. “There needs to be an aggressive look at this.”
It’s not the first time a top health official has left state service following controversy.
Jennifer Kent, director of the state Department of Health Care Services, resigned under pressure in September after she criticized vaccine bill protesters on her private Facebook page.
Kent was temporarily replaced on an interim basis by Newsom’s deputy Cabinet secretary, Richard Figureroa Jr., that month. In late January, Newsom named Dr. Brad Gilbert the new director, having pulled the former chief executive officer of the Inland Empire Health Plan out of retirement. Four months later, Gilbert resigned.
In June, Newsom appointed Will Lightbourne to Gilbert’s former role, the fourth person to hold the position in nine months. Lightbourne, 70, had retired in 2018 as director of the state Department of Social Services.
In addition to Gilbert, Angell’s resignation from the Department of Public Health on Sunday came on the heels of other key departures. Last month, Dr. Charity Dean, the department’s second in command, stepped down.
Their departures were also compounded by the resignations of more than a half dozen county public health officers during the pandemic.
“People say it’s a marathon, not a sprint, but quite frankly you’ve got to feel like you’re sprinting for an entire marathon because it just keeps coming,” Smith said. “There is no question that the degree of stress has increased the number of people who’ve chosen to retire and or who left.”
Angell’s job responsibilities will be split between two women, state officials said: Sandra Shewry will take over as acting director of the Department of Public Health, and Dr. Erica Pan will become the acting state public health officer after having joined California’s public health department in June as the state’s epidemiologist.
Shewry, who is vice president at the nonprofit California Health Care Foundation, previously oversaw the state’s Medi-Cal program under Schwarzenegger. Pan, who was previously Alameda County’s health officer, notably clashed with Tesla Chief Executive Elon Musk in May over his electric car factory’s decision to restart production despite shelter-at-home orders at the time.
Smith said state law prevents the administration from splitting the state public health officer and director roles on anything more than a temporary basis, indicating another shift at the top ranks of the health department is on the horizon.
The changes come as some counties and business groups complain about an inconsistent pandemic response. Many note that the lack of strong leadership at the national level has placed an undue burden on the state, but say it’s difficult to get clear guidance from the Newsom administration.
Rachel Michelin, president of the California Retailers Assn., said her group has tried to engage with public health officials to understand how counties can get off the state’s watch list. The list determines which counties have to close gyms, shopping malls and other businesses. It was frozen over a week ago in light of the data problems.
“We’re trying to figure out what’s the path and the Department of Public Health just hasn’t been responsive,” Michelin said. “What are the rules? And it does seem like the rules keep changing in the middle of the game.”
Matt Willis, a public health officer in Marin County, said the data problem, the rapid spread of the virus and resignations of top leaders have left California in “a vulnerable position.”
“We are coming out of a month and a half of significantly elevated transmission across the state and a lot of dynamic changes and policies to try and match that,” Willis said. “ The ground has been shifting in a lot of other ways and this is another stress for us as a state.”


latimes--2020-08-13--These essential workers face evictions and could become homeless during pandemic

Three weeks ago on a Saturday evening , Irma Barbosa was startled by a knock on her door in this San Joaquin Valley town .
It was the landlord ’ s son .
She was two months behind on her rent .
As she stood in the faded yellow threshold of her $ 300 unit , which lacks running water and is nearly entirely filled by a twin bed , he told her to be gone by 5 a.m. the next day , she said .
Barbosa speaks little English , lacks immigration documents and was panicked at the thought @ @ @ @ @ @ @ said through an interpreter .
With jobs scarce because of the pandemic and while suffering from a work injury , she has been unable to return to the packing plants where she has earned a living for 12 years .
Nor can she return to her off-season job at the auto parts factory where she hurt her knee while filling boxes .
She had offered to pay rent in installments , but the landlord wouldn ’ t let her , she said .
Like many of the 1.6 million workers in California without @ @ @ @ @ @ @ her rights and hesitant to fight the unlawful eviction .
On the advice of an acquaintance , she refused to leave that Sunday morning , but she is fearful she could be forced out at any moment .
“ It feels bad , but I leave it to God , ” she said recently .
As California searches for ways to avoid an “ eviction cliff ” caused by the economic devastation of the coronavirus , including an eviction moratorium currently in place , immigrants such as Barbosa are bearing the brunt of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ help , advocates say .
At the same time , many are falling ill with COVID-19 while also enduring the largest wage losses amid the pandemic-triggered recession .
In San Joaquin and other rural counties , these workers often live in spaces not meant for human habitation — basement rooms with metal-grilled vents for windows , trailers parked on dirt roads that don ’ t exist on official maps .
Barbosa ’ s home , she was told by a previous tenant , was originally a closet that was walled off from the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ their immigration status will be used against them if they don ’ t comply with landlords , and they have little access to either legal advice or government aid .
Federal relief funds that sent $ 1,200 stimulus payments to Americans excluded most of these families .
Workers living here illegally are also excluded from unemployment and many other benefits , though in April , Gov .
Gavin Newsom allocated $ 75 million in state funds meant to give up to $ 1,000 to 150,000 immigrants without legal status .
The state ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ extend its eviction ban until the end of the month , preventing court-sanctioned ousters , but such safeguards are not honored in this shadow market , said Luis Magana , an advocate in Stockton who is trying to help Barbosa .
Over a 10-year period from 2007 to 2017 , there were nearly 38,000 eviction cases in San Joaquin County courts , according to statistics from Faith in the Valley , a nonprofit , but the organization estimates twice that number of unofficial evictions took place during the same period .
“ These @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , that feel they have nowhere to turn , ” said Assemblyman Robert Rivas ( D-Hollister ) , who is pushing a series of bills to help farmworkers and is the grandson of an agricultural laborer himself .
“ These are people that stay quiet and many , as we are learning , are choosing to just self-evict , to just become homeless , to prematurely leave a property , and this is a huge problem.
” Mass displacement of immigrant workers could leave thousands of families homeless , and it probably would @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ s agricultural , construction and service industries , advocates contend , especially here in the Central Valley , where many crops are ready for harvest .
Nearly 80 % of California ’ s workers without legal status are in jobs deemed essential , according to a UCLA study released Monday , and on average these laborers lost 25 % of their wages between February and April — more than any other demographic of employees .
Workers living in California illegally make up about 9 % of the total workforce and had the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ May — nearly 30 % — of any group in the study .
“ The gross injustice of how we treat immigrants has become very clear , not only from a moral point of view but from an economic point of view , ” said Raúl Hinojosa-Ojeda , an associate professor of Chicana and Chicano Studies at UCLA and author of the study .
If the state hopes to reopen its economy , it will need these workers , he said .
“ You are not going to be able to get them @ @ @ @ @ @ @ poverty situation where they are going to disappear.
” One of those uncertain of her economic future is Maria , a farmworker in the Merced County town of Dos Palos who asked that her last name not be used because she is in the U.S. illegally .
Her husband , Israel , has worked at a dairy for nearly 10 years , with the dairy owner providing a free trailer for the family to live in and a salary of about $ 450 a week .
Falling milk prices from the downturn forced @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a new operator has taken over , she said .
The new landlady is demanding they either leave by the end of the month or pay $ 650 rent and a deposit .
The landlady gave Maria a rental agreement written in English , which she can ’ t read , but which includes a provision that says the landlady must be informed in writing if the family is away for more than seven days and can evict them if they are gone for more than two weeks with any rent outstanding .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ would also keep the family ’ s possessions if they were evicted .
“ I am not too sure exactly how it says it , but that is how I understood it , ” Maria said .
“ I think that she ’ s probably in her right to demand what she wants because she is the owner.
” Maria , who is currently picking grapes for work , has two children ages 5 and 10 and sometimes must travel with them for weeks at a time to other places as different crops @ @ @ @ @ @ @ construction job in the Bay Area last week .
She can ’ t find another rental they can afford but is also scared to stay under the new terms , she said .
“ I understand that I would be paying $ 1,200 or maybe more to find a house anywhere else , ” Maria said , adding that many others are in a similar situation .
“ So I really want people to see that somebody needs to do something to lower the rent.
” Janine Nkosi , a sociology lecturer at @ @ @ @ @ @ @ that of Maria ’ s family in which a home is tied to a job are common for farmworkers .
“ Once they lose their employment , they lose their housing , ” Nkosi said .
Though the majority of Latino essential workers are renters , the economic crisis is threatening even those who have purchased homes .
Norma Arias , 59 , worked as a waitress nearly her whole life , saving enough for a down payment on a home in Taft in 2008 .
She liked that the home had a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the rooms warm at night .
In 2013 , just after returning home from a shift , she suffered a stroke that left her paralyzed on one side and in a wheelchair .
Her son , Samuel , a farmworker , has been living with her , helping to pay the mortgage .
But a rainy season followed by the coronavirus outbreak has left him with few hours in the almond orchards .
They are now three months behind on the mortgage , and the bank is threatening foreclosure in August if they @ @ @ @ @ @ @ said .
Though she said she has tried asking the lender for help , she is overwhelmed by the process — she has no car , and even making copies of papers to send to the bank involves a long journey in the wheelchair .
“ I am stressed and fearful , ” she said , adding that she and her son have nowhere to go if they lose the house .
For many farmworkers , the eviction threat looms largest if they contract COVID-19 , can ’ t work and lose wages @ @ @ @ @ @ @ down with the disease in July ; she believes she was infected while riding in a crowded van to a farm in Napa .
She has no family to help her and became so sick that her landlady called an ambulance for her .
Though she is recovering , she has been unemployed for about a month .
Her biggest worry , she said with a simple one-word answer , is dinero , money .
Sitting under a narrow overhang at the front door of her apartment with an oxygen tube around her @ @ @ @ @ @ @ know when she will be able to return to work or how she will catch up on her rent , already overdue .
Imelda Garcia , 44 , lives a few blocks away with her two kids and has worked with Castillo this summer .
A single mother , she said she is terrified of what will happen to her children if she falls ill and can ’ t pay her $ 600 rent .
A few weeks ago , her children ’ s uncle , a carwash worker , died of COVID-19 @ @ @ @ @ @ @ would attend junior college this fall , she is taking him to the fields with her instead so he can learn the work “ in case I die , ” she said .
Right now , she is clearing brush in blueberry fields with a crew that has agreed to socially distance in their personal lives to protect one another , but she fears what conditions will be like in her next job , wherever it may be .
She shrugs in resignation when asked what kind of aid would be most useful @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to support essential workers during the pandemic .
She does not believe there is or will be protection for families such as hers that lack legal status .
“ Who will help ?
” she asked , as if it was a rhetorical question .

Three weeks ago on a Saturday evening, Irma Barbosa was startled by a knock on her door in this San Joaquin Valley town.
It was the landlord’s son. She was two months behind on her rent.
As she stood in the faded yellow threshold of her $300 unit, which lacks running water and is nearly entirely filled by a twin bed, he told her to be gone by 5 a.m. the next day, she said.
Barbosa speaks little English, lacks immigration documents and was panicked at the thought of being homeless within hours, she said through an interpreter. With jobs scarce because of the pandemic and while suffering from a work injury, she has been unable to return to the packing plants where she has earned a living for 12 years. Nor can she return to her off-season job at the auto parts factory where she hurt her knee while filling boxes. She had offered to pay rent in installments, but the landlord wouldn’t let her, she said.
Like many of the 1.6 million workers in California without legal status, Barbosa was uncertain of her rights and hesitant to fight the unlawful eviction. On the advice of an acquaintance, she refused to leave that Sunday morning, but she is fearful she could be forced out at any moment.
“It feels bad, but I leave it to God,” she said recently.
As California searches for ways to avoid an “eviction cliff” caused by the economic devastation of the coronavirus, including an eviction moratorium currently in place, immigrants such as Barbosa are bearing the brunt of the crisis with the least access to help, advocates say. At the same time, many are falling ill with COVID-19 while also enduring the largest wage losses amid the pandemic-triggered recession.
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In San Joaquin and other rural counties, these workers often live in spaces not meant for human habitation — basement rooms with metal-grilled vents for windows, trailers parked on dirt roads that don’t exist on official maps. Barbosa’s home, she was told by a previous tenant, was originally a closet that was walled off from the main house.
They are scared that their immigration status will be used against them if they don’t comply with landlords, and they have little access to either legal advice or government aid. Federal relief funds that sent $1,200 stimulus payments to Americans excluded most of these families. Workers living here illegally are also excluded from unemployment and many other benefits, though in April, Gov. Gavin Newsom allocated $75 million in state funds meant to give up to $1,000 to 150,000 immigrants without legal status.
The state’s Judicial Council is expected Thursday to extend its eviction ban until the end of the month, preventing court-sanctioned ousters, but such safeguards are not honored in this shadow market, said Luis Magana, an advocate in Stockton who is trying to help Barbosa.
Over a 10-year period from 2007 to 2017, there were nearly 38,000 eviction cases in San Joaquin County courts, according to statistics from Faith in the Valley, a nonprofit, but the organization estimates twice that number of unofficial evictions took place during the same period.
“These are vulnerable workers that feel absolutely hopeless, that feel they have nowhere to turn,” said Assemblyman Robert Rivas (D-Hollister), who is pushing a series of bills to help farmworkers and is the grandson of an agricultural laborer himself. “These are people that stay quiet and many, as we are learning, are choosing to just self-evict, to just become homeless, to prematurely leave a property, and this is a huge problem.”
Mass displacement of immigrant workers could leave thousands of families homeless, and it probably would hammer the already-fragile labor market for California’s agricultural, construction and service industries, advocates contend, especially here in the Central Valley, where many crops are ready for harvest.
Nearly 80% of California’s workers without legal status are in jobs deemed essential, according to a UCLA study released Monday, and on average these laborers lost 25% of their wages between February and April — more than any other demographic of employees. Workers living in California illegally make up about 9% of the total workforce and had the highest rate of unemployment between February and May — nearly 30% — of any group in the study.
“The gross injustice of how we treat immigrants has become very clear, not only from a moral point of view but from an economic point of view,” said Raúl Hinojosa-Ojeda, an associate professor of Chicana and Chicano Studies at UCLA and author of the study.
If the state hopes to reopen its economy, it will need these workers, he said. “You are not going to be able to get them back if you have basically created a poverty situation where they are going to disappear.”
One of those uncertain of her economic future is Maria, a farmworker in the Merced County town of Dos Palos who asked that her last name not be used because she is in the U.S. illegally. Her husband, Israel, has worked at a dairy for nearly 10 years, with the dairy owner providing a free trailer for the family to live in and a salary of about $450 a week.
Falling milk prices from the downturn forced the dairy owner to close, and a new operator has taken over, she said. The new landlady is demanding they either leave by the end of the month or pay $650 rent and a deposit.
The landlady gave Maria a rental agreement written in English, which she can’t read, but which includes a provision that says the landlady must be informed in writing if the family is away for more than seven days and can evict them if they are gone for more than two weeks with any rent outstanding. Maria said the new landlady explained she would also keep the family’s possessions if they were evicted.
“I am not too sure exactly how it says it, but that is how I understood it,” Maria said. “I think that she’s probably in her right to demand what she wants because she is the owner.”
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Maria, who is currently picking grapes for work, has two children ages 5 and 10 and sometimes must travel with them for weeks at a time to other places as different crops need harvesting. Israel just started a construction job in the Bay Area last week. She can’t find another rental they can afford but is also scared to stay under the new terms, she said.
“I understand that I would be paying $1,200 or maybe more to find a house anywhere else,” Maria said, adding that many others are in a similar situation. “So I really want people to see that somebody needs to do something to lower the rent.”
Janine Nkosi, a sociology lecturer at Cal State Fresno, said arrangements like that of Maria’s family in which a home is tied to a job are common for farmworkers. “Once they lose their employment, they lose their housing,” Nkosi said.
World & Nation COVID-19 strikes Washington state farmworkers and swamps rural hospitals Jamaican farmer Earl Edwards died Friday in quarantine housing for foreign laborers in Washington state, where he worked in a cherry-packing facility. A coronavirus outbreak at one of Washington state’s largest fruit farms has renewed concern for agricultural workers, who live and work in close quarters.
Though the majority of Latino essential workers are renters, the economic crisis is threatening even those who have purchased homes. Norma Arias, 59, worked as a waitress nearly her whole life, saving enough for a down payment on a home in Taft in 2008. She liked that the home had a wraparound porch and new carpet that kept the rooms warm at night.
In 2013, just after returning home from a shift, she suffered a stroke that left her paralyzed on one side and in a wheelchair. Her son, Samuel, a farmworker, has been living with her, helping to pay the mortgage. But a rainy season followed by the coronavirus outbreak has left him with few hours in the almond orchards. They are now three months behind on the mortgage, and the bank is threatening foreclosure in August if they do not pay $4,000, Arias said.
Though she said she has tried asking the lender for help, she is overwhelmed by the process — she has no car, and even making copies of papers to send to the bank involves a long journey in the wheelchair.
“I am stressed and fearful,” she said, adding that she and her son have nowhere to go if they lose the house.
For many farmworkers, the eviction threat looms largest if they contract COVID-19, can’t work and lose wages.
Josefa Castillo, a farmworker in Lodi, contracted COVID-19 in July and has been out of work since. (Anita Chabria)
Josefa Castillo, 63, came down with the disease in July; she believes she was infected while riding in a crowded van to a farm in Napa. She has no family to help her and became so sick that her landlady called an ambulance for her. Though she is recovering, she has been unemployed for about a month.
Her biggest worry, she said with a simple one-word answer, is dinero, money. Sitting under a narrow overhang at the front door of her apartment with an oxygen tube around her neck, Castillo said she does not know when she will be able to return to work or how she will catch up on her rent, already overdue.
Imelda Garcia, 44, lives a few blocks away with her two kids and has worked with Castillo this summer. A single mother, she said she is terrified of what will happen to her children if she falls ill and can’t pay her $600 rent. A few weeks ago, her children’s uncle, a carwash worker, died of COVID-19.
Lodi farmworker Imelda Garcia fears what will happen to her kids if she contracts COVID-19. (Anita Chabria)
Though she hoped her 17-year-old son would attend junior college this fall, she is taking him to the fields with her instead so he can learn the work “in case I die,” she said. Right now, she is clearing brush in blueberry fields with a crew that has agreed to socially distance in their personal lives to protect one another, but she fears what conditions will be like in her next job, wherever it may be.
She shrugs in resignation when asked what kind of aid would be most useful to her, what government could do to support essential workers during the pandemic. She does not believe there is or will be protection for families such as hers that lack legal status.
“Who will help?” she asked, as if it was a rhetorical question.


latimes--2020-08-12--Inspired by essential workers, young brothers use a 3-D printer to make face shields

During the early stages of the COVID-19 pandemic in the United States , Zubin and Tenzing Carvalho were on high alert .
The two brothers from Hemet , ages 14 and 12 , come from a family of healthcare workers , many of them in New Jersey and New York , two of the hardest hit states at the time .
Some relatives got COVID-19 and recovered , but their great-uncle and great-aunt , who were older and had underlying health conditions , didn ’ t make it .
So the brothers decided to do something .
Their dad , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ surgery at Hemet Global Medical Center , and their grandparents are primary care doctors in West Covina .
From them , the brothers knew what the battle looked like on the frontlines , and wanted to make sure their family members and other healthcare workers were as protected as possible .
Tenzing and Zubin are members of a robotics team at Western Center Academy , a STEM-focused school in Hemet .
They began using their robotics team ’ s 3-D printer to make face shields for healthcare workers in their family , Filipino @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , Chicago , the Bay Area and Southern California .
They soon realized there was a high demand for personal protective equipment at hospitals , nursing homes and schools in their community , and reached out to robotics teams at other schools to expand their project .
Since February , they have enlisted students from seven high schools and eight elementary schools to produce more than 12,500 face shields .
Their group , SoCal Face Shields for Frontline Workers , has made donations to the Navajo Nation , more than 50 medical clinics @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Veterans Administration Loma Linda Healthcare System , grocery stores and postal workers .
Next , they ’ ll be providing 1,600 face shields for election workers in Riverside County in November .
“ It feels wonderful to help people , especially frontline workers , knowing that they ’ re risking their lives every day at work , helping COVID patients and helping the community , ” said Zubin .
“ We ’ re just kids , but nowadays you have the opportunity to help people in many different ways , ” said Tenzing @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to make , and the boys often print for 15 hours a day .
Using the design from the UC San Francisco face shield project , which complies with Food and Drug Administration guidelines , they print the shield frames from their living room at home .
These face shields are reusable , and the transparency film can be changed easily and linked with rubber bands , a more accessible material than buttonhole elastic .
Making the shields at home came with complications .
At first , they used a three-hole punch to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ strap for the actual face shield , getting blisters in the process .
It wasn ’ t until they reached out to Hemet Unified School District ’ s purchasing director , Andy McGuire , that they found a better method to make holes in the tough plastic .
Now , they use the school district ’ s drill press to punch through 200 sheets at a time .
The Carvalhos donated 2,600 face shields for the teachers , aides , cafeteria workers , special education classes , administrators and custodial staff who may @ @ @ @ @ @ @ year .
“ For them to be able to prop us up and help us get through this has been so heartwarming , ” said McGuire , who was responsible for procuring PPE for staff and students in 26 schools .
“ We were working hard to provide all the things we needed for [ school lunches ] and things of that nature to our students , and then these two young men showed up , and it was such a role reversal .
Now we have the kids taking care of us.
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ Center Academy , said he is proud of his students for taking initiative to help others during the pandemic .
“ They ’ re incredibly motivated kids who are willing to wrap their heads around problems and to see what resources are available , ” he said .
“ They want to do what they can to be able to apply their resources , their knowledge , their drive and their passion to help those around them.
” While other students at the academy have worked on similar projects to help frontline workers @ @ @ @ @ @ @ up the capacity and taken things to a whole new level , ” Bailey said .
The Carvalhos had planned to go on vacation in Italy and take classes during their summer break , but don ’ t complain about their canceled plans .
“ We didn ’ t expect things to end up this way , but we ’ ve ended up helping many people , and it ’ s been an awesome experience , ” Tenzing said .

Zubin, 14, left, and Tenzing Carvalho, 12, donate their homemade face shields to Meadowbrook Health Care Center Administrator Mike Elbert and Raji Sandhills, director of nursing, in Hemet.
During the early stages of the COVID-19 pandemic in the United States, Zubin and Tenzing Carvalho were on high alert. The two brothers from Hemet, ages 14 and 12, come from a family of healthcare workers, many of them in New Jersey and New York, two of the hardest hit states at the time.
Some relatives got COVID-19 and recovered, but their great-uncle and great-aunt, who were older and had underlying health conditions, didn’t make it.
For the record: An earlier version of this story incorrectly said the UC San Francisco face shield project was approved by the Food and Drug Administration. The project complies with FDA guidelines.
So the brothers decided to do something.
Their dad, Dr. Gerard Carvalho, is chief of surgery at Hemet Global Medical Center, and their grandparents are primary care doctors in West Covina. From them, the brothers knew what the battle looked like on the frontlines, and wanted to make sure their family members and other healthcare workers were as protected as possible.
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Tenzing and Zubin are members of a robotics team at Western Center Academy, a STEM-focused school in Hemet. They began using their robotics team’s 3-D printer to make face shields for healthcare workers in their family, Filipino Americans from New York, New Jersey, Chicago, the Bay Area and Southern California. They soon realized there was a high demand for personal protective equipment at hospitals, nursing homes and schools in their community, and reached out to robotics teams at other schools to expand their project.
Now we have the kids taking care of us. — Andy McGuire, purchasing director, Hemet Unified School District
Since February, they have enlisted students from seven high schools and eight elementary schools to produce more than 12,500 face shields. Their group, SoCal Face Shields for Frontline Workers, has made donations to the Navajo Nation, more than 50 medical clinics, food and service workers at the Veterans Administration Loma Linda Healthcare System, grocery stores and postal workers. Next, they’ll be providing 1,600 face shields for election workers at 120 “vote centers” in Riverside County in November.
“It feels wonderful to help people, especially frontline workers, knowing that they’re risking their lives every day at work, helping COVID patients and helping the community,” said Zubin.
“We’re just kids, but nowadays you have the opportunity to help people in many different ways,” said Tenzing.
Zubin Carvalho, front, and his brother Tenzing honed their 3-D printing skills at Western Center Academy in Hemet. (Gina Ferazzi / Los Angeles Times)
Each face shield takes three hours to make, and the boys often print for 15 hours a day. Using the design from the UC San Francisco face shield project, which complies with Food and Drug Administration guidelines, they print the shield frames from their living room at home. These face shields are reusable, and the transparency film can be changed easily and linked with rubber bands, a more accessible material than buttonhole elastic.
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Making the shields at home came with complications. At first, they used a three-hole punch to manually create attachment points on the head strap for the actual face shield, getting blisters in the process. It wasn’t until they reached out to Hemet Unified School District’s purchasing director, Andy McGuire, that they found a better method to make holes in the tough plastic. Now, they use the school district’s drill press to punch through 200 sheets at a time.
Zubin and Tenzing watch as Andy McGuire makes precise holes in face shields so headbands can be attached at the print shop. (Gina Ferazzi / Los Angeles Times)
The Carvalhos donated 2,600 face shields for the teachers, aides, cafeteria workers, special education classes, administrators and custodial staff who may work on campus during the remote-learning school year.
“For them to be able to prop us up and help us get through this has been so heartwarming,” said McGuire, who was responsible for procuring PPE for staff and students in 26 schools. “We were working hard to provide all the things we needed for [school lunches] and things of that nature to our students, and then these two young men showed up, and it was such a role reversal. Now we have the kids taking care of us.”
Paul Bailey, principal of Western Center Academy, said he is proud of his students for taking initiative to help others during the pandemic.
“They’re incredibly motivated kids who are willing to wrap their heads around problems and to see what resources are available,” he said. “They want to do what they can to be able to apply their resources, their knowledge, their drive and their passion to help those around them.”
While other students at the academy have worked on similar projects to help frontline workers, Tenzing and Zubin have “ramped up the capacity and taken things to a whole new level,” Bailey said.
The Carvalhos had planned to go on vacation in Italy and take classes during their summer break, but don’t complain about their canceled plans.
“We didn’t expect things to end up this way, but we’ve ended up helping many people, and it’s been an awesome experience,” Tenzing said.


latimes--2020-08-15--Column: I wasn't a fan of Kamala Harris. It took President Trump to change my mind

The day Joe Biden announced that the California senator would be his running mate , I rolled my eyes and resigned myself to voting for her .
It just seemed bonkers that Joe Biden would select a career prosecutor — Black though she may be — at a time when Americans are taking to the streets to protest a criminal justice system that continues to treat Black people unfairly .
And yet , also all too typical of the Democratic Party to go for the moderate .
But that was Tuesday .
Now , I ’ m all in .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ certainly more committed than ever to giving President Trump and Vice President Pence the boot .
What ’ s changed for me , and I suspect for a lot of Black people who were initially less than enthusiastic about Harris as VP , has been the constant stream of racist attacks against her from Trump and his various minion mouthpieces .
Lukewarm about her before , now we ’ re fired up and defensive .
I mean , how else can one respond to the comments about her being “ nasty ” during @ @ @ @ @ @ @ madwoman ” while questioning then-Judge Brett Kavanaugh during his Senate confirmation hearing for the U.S. Supreme Court .
Never mind that Kavanaugh was legit angry crying .
The “ angry Black woman ” trope is so tired .
And then there ’ s the cockamamie narrative about her being part of “ the left-wing mob ” that wants to do away with “ law and order ” and is now controlling the Democratic Party .
Fellow Californian and House Minority Leader Kevin McCarthy tweeted ( and apparently deleted ) that she “ wants @ @ @ @ @ @ @ San Francisco .
Her radical agenda has been terrible for Californians , and it would be terrible for the rest of America , too.
” What does that even mean ?
So a Black woman who made headlines for refusing to punish police misconduct is now a “ radical ” ?
Please .
I interviewed her a handful of times during her time in Sacramento , and I always walked away thinking she was smart , charming , cautious and opportunistic in the way that the most talented politicians tend to be .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ have been the snide comments and insinuations about her race , from the ludicrous birtherism claims that she ’ s not eligible to be vice president to the questions about whether she ’ s really Black because she is the daughter of an Indian mother and a Jamaican father .
I remember the first time someone asked me that .
I was in the fourth grade .
My family had just moved from an Ohio suburb with a population that was about 90 % Black to one , only a few miles but @ @ @ @ @ @ @ was about 90 % white .
One afternoon , a girl with long , blond hair and blue eyes walked over from where she had been sitting on the playground with a bunch of other girls with long blond hair and blue eyes .
She looked me up and down in the scornful and skeptical way that only a privileged kid can .
“ Are you really Black ?
” she asked .
“ Because you are really light.
” I remember pausing , wondering if it was a trick question .
“ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ To this day , the notion that anyone who is of African descent — whether their ancestors came on a slave ship through the Caribbean or directly to the shores of the United States — has to somehow prove their Blackness is something that both dumbfounds and enrages me .
It is just mind-blowing that we ’ re still having this conversation , even after Barack Obama , born to a white mother and an African father , served two terms as president — which probably tells me that I ’ ve been @ @ @ @ @ @ @ But I ’ m not alone .
A little hesitant at first , a string of progressive Black women have come out in support of Harris in recent days , as Republicans have stepped up their attacks on her .
Black Lives Matter co-founder Patrisse Cullors took to Instagram on Thursday to encourage her followers to vote for Biden and Harris .
“ She has been an amazing progressive in the Senate .
She has stood up for Trump time and time again ... We need a Black woman like her to be @ @ @ @ @ @ @ much the same , telling her followers on IG that there is no debate anymore and to just go vote .
“ We either make this happen .
Or literally , more of us perish , ” she wrote , blaming Trump ’ s hot mess of an administration for the disproportionate number of Black and brown people who have fallen victim to the spiraling COVID-19 pandemic .
“ People are dying .
Someone I love died .
This virus is real .
If it hasn ’ t visited your doorstep , it @ @ @ @ @ @ @ this or she didn ’ t do that .
I hear you .
I know .
And I don ’ t care.
” Longtime activist Angela Davis also has chimed in .
Not a fan of Biden , she admitted that she wasn ’ t thrilled that he had picked Harris .
“ We can ’ t forget that she did not oppose the death penalty , ” she told Reuters , “ and we can ’ t forget some of the real problems that are associated with her career as a prosecutor.
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ has made the ticket more “ palatable ” and encouraged people to vote .
The bottom line is , as much as Republicans would like to sow division among the ranks of liberals , poking sore points , such as allegiance to the more progressive demands of Black Lives Matter , it won ’ t work .
Sure , Harris has been squishy on the defund-the-police movement and , as California ’ s attorney general , threatened to jail the parents of truant children .
Republicans have tried to hit her on that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ally of anarchists .
But , as the state ’ s junior senator , Harris has led the charge on a police reform bill that would create a national registry for misconduct cases , prohibit chokeholds , limit “ qualified immunity ” and declare lynching a federal crime .
All of this adds up to the fact that Harris might not be the biggest ally for progressives if elected vice president , but she certainly won ’ t be an enemy .
Not anymore .
“ People want us to go on and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ talk positively about Kamala Harris .
I want to be very clear : Black Lives Matter believes that our primary work is the work of organizing and being in streets , ” Melina Abdullah , co-founder of Black Lives Matter Los Angeles , told a crowd of supporters on Wednesday .
“ There ’ s a fallacy , ” she continued , “ that says that you move from protest to politics .
You do not move from protest to politics .
The only thing that ever creates change is protest and politics.
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ Black woman is a good catalyst for both .

I’ll admit it. I was a Kamala Harris skeptic.
The day Joe Biden announced that the California senator would be his running mate, I rolled my eyes and resigned myself to voting for her.
It just seemed bonkers that Joe Biden would select a career prosecutor — Black though she may be — at a time when Americans are taking to the streets to protest a criminal justice system that continues to treat Black people unfairly. And yet, also all too typical of the Democratic Party to go for the moderate.
But that was Tuesday.
Now, I’m all in. I’m even excited, and certainly more committed than ever to giving President Trump and Vice President Pence the boot.
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What’s changed for me, and I suspect for a lot of Black people who were initially less than enthusiastic about Harris as VP, has been the constant stream of racist attacks against her from Trump and his various minion mouthpieces. Lukewarm about her before, now we’re fired up and defensive.
I mean, how else can one respond to the comments about her being “nasty” during the Democratic primary debates and “a madwoman” while questioning then-Judge Brett Kavanaugh during his Senate confirmation hearing for the U.S. Supreme Court. Never mind that Kavanaugh was legit angry crying. The “angry Black woman” trope is so tired.
And then there’s the cockamamie narrative about her being part of “the left-wing mob” that wants to do away with “law and order” and is now controlling the Democratic Party. Fellow Californian and House Minority Leader Kevin McCarthy tweeted (and apparently deleted) that she “wants to turn the entire United States into San Francisco. Her radical agenda has been terrible for Californians, and it would be terrible for the rest of America, too.”
What does that even mean? So a Black woman who made headlines for refusing to punish police misconduct is now a “radical”? Please. I interviewed her a handful of times during her time in Sacramento, and I always walked away thinking she was smart, charming, cautious and opportunistic in the way that the most talented politicians tend to be.
But what pushed me over the edge have been the snide comments and insinuations about her race, from the ludicrous birtherism claims that she’s not eligible to be vice president to the questions about whether she’s really Black because she is the daughter of an Indian mother and a Jamaican father.
I remember the first time someone asked me that. I was in the fourth grade. My family had just moved from an Ohio suburb with a population that was about 90% Black to one, only a few miles but an entire socioeconomic strata away, that was about 90% white.
Advertisement
One afternoon, a girl with long, blond hair and blue eyes walked over from where she had been sitting on the playground with a bunch of other girls with long blond hair and blue eyes. She looked me up and down in the scornful and skeptical way that only a privileged kid can.
“Are you really Black?” she asked. “Because you are really light.”
I remember pausing, wondering if it was a trick question. “Yes,” I told her.
She didn’t miss a beat. “Well, prove it!”
To this day, the notion that anyone who is of African descent — whether their ancestors came on a slave ship through the Caribbean or directly to the shores of the United States — has to somehow prove their Blackness is something that both dumbfounds and enrages me. It is just mind-blowing that we’re still having this conversation, even after Barack Obama, born to a white mother and an African father, served two terms as president — which probably tells me that I’ve been in multicultural California for too long.
But I’m not alone. A little hesitant at first, a string of progressive Black women have come out in support of Harris in recent days, as Republicans have stepped up their attacks on her.
Black Lives Matter co-founder Patrisse Cullors took to Instagram on Thursday to encourage her followers to vote for Biden and Harris. “She has been an amazing progressive in the Senate. She has stood up to Trump time and time again... We need a Black woman like her to be in office.”
Filmmaker Ava DuVernay did much the same, telling her followers on IG that there is no debate anymore and to just go vote.
“We either make this happen. Or literally, more of us perish,” she wrote, blaming Trump’s hot mess of an administration for the disproportionate number of Black and brown people who have fallen victim to the spiraling COVID-19 pandemic. “People are dying. Someone I love died. This virus is real. If it hasn’t visited your doorstep, it will. Oh but, Kamala did this or she didn’t do that. I hear you. I know. And I don’t care.”
Longtime activist Angela Davis also has chimed in. Not a fan of Biden, she admitted that she wasn’t thrilled that he had picked Harris. “We can’t forget that she did not oppose the death penalty,” she told Reuters, “and we can’t forget some of the real problems that are associated with her career as a prosecutor.”
But Davis said that Harris also has made the ticket more “palatable” and encouraged people to vote.
The bottom line is, as much as Republicans would like to sow division among the ranks of liberals, poking sore points, such as allegiance to the more progressive demands of Black Lives Matter, it won’t work.
Sure, Harris has been squishy on the defund-the-police movement and, as California’s attorney general, threatened to jail the parents of truant children. Republicans have tried to hit her on that while simultaneously accusing her as being an ally of anarchists. But, as the state’s junior senator, Harris has led the charge on a police reform bill that would create a national registry for misconduct cases, prohibit chokeholds, limit “qualified immunity” and declare lynching a federal crime.
All of this adds up to the fact that Harris might not be the biggest ally for progressives if elected vice president, but she certainly won’t be an enemy. Not anymore.
“People want us to go on and either talk negatively about Kamala Harris or talk positively about Kamala Harris. I want to be very clear: Black Lives Matter believes that our primary work is the work of organizing and being in streets,” Melina Abdullah, co-founder of Black Lives Matter Los Angeles, told a crowd of supporters on Wednesday.
“There’s a fallacy,” she continued, “that says that you move from protest to politics. You do not move from protest to politics. The only thing that ever creates change is protest and politics.”
Resorting to racist attacks on a Black woman is a good catalyst for both.


latimes--2020-08-15--A beloved L.A. bakery's fight to survive the coronavirus reminds us to help out places we'd miss

Think of the one-of-a-kind , old-time stores and restaurants you would mourn if they suddenly disappeared — the waiters and waitresses who have served up your treasured taste memories for years , the shopkeepers you drive across town to see because they stock wonders you can find nowhere else .
How are they doing now ?
Are they managing to make ends meet in the pandemic ?
Have you dropped by ?
Have you called and asked ?
Is there something you could do to help ?
Consider the story I ’ m about to tell you a plea to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ too late , before you learn that what is irreplaceable is gone .
It ’ s a story about how one such Los Angeles favorite has been struggling mightily to get through this tough time — and may just do so if this crisis we ’ re in does not go on forever , now that it has spread the word of its troubles .
It ’ s also a reminder that so many other gems scattered all over our city surely could use more of our attention and the dollars we ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , I stood inside Diamond Bakery on Fairfax Avenue and eavesdropped on this plaintive exchange , conducted through face masks , between Marlene Friedman , 72 , a lifelong customer , who was picking up four round loaves of corn rye , and Maggie Ballesteros , who has worked behind the long , glass counter for 14 years .
“ You better stay open.
” “ We ’ re trying.
” “ I don ’ t know what I would do if you weren ’ t here.
” You would understand if you @ @ @ @ @ @ @ or the challah or the raisin pumpernickel ( sold in moist hunks by the pound ) baked daily at Diamond .
It ’ s possible that you have even if you ’ ve never set foot in the utterly unassuming shop , which is exceedingly easy to miss if you don ’ t know to look for it .
Slices of Diamond bread long have bookended stacks of corned beef and pastrami at some of the city ’ s finest delis .
They ’ ve played uncredited roles at restaurants and stalls in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
The shop ’ s unattributed loaves , pastries , cookies and cakes have appeared in many dining establishments and in supermarket bakery aisles .
People who know their baking know that Diamond is the real deal .
Its creations traverse Los Angeles — and are shipped nationwide to their fans .
In the cavernous kitchen behind the store , a starter that is believed to have been active for more than 100 years turns in an enormous mixer after it is fed its daily fresh flour .
Diamond ’ s many recipes @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , rugelach , bourekas , hamantaschen , strudel , Russian coffee cake , cheesecake , racetrack cake swirled and topped with rich chocolate — are well over three-quarters of a century old .
They were brought to the West Coast from New York by the Eastern European immigrants who opened the shop in 1946 , though details of that history have faded even as the traditions live on .
Late last year , the last member of the Jewish family that had run the bakery since the 1970s retired , tossing out memorabilia @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
But while he was more than ready to be done with the bakery , the bakery wasn ’ t ready to be done .
A group of longtime employees — Latino bakers ; Raida Shieban ( born in Israel ) , who rules the bakery counter — had over the years formed their own sort of family and pooled their resources to purchase it .
Ramon Luna , 49 , who came to Los Angeles from Mexico when he was a teenager , found his way to Diamond soon after .
He @ @ @ @ @ @ @ then became a baker ’ s assistant , then gradually won the trust of the owners and learned the recipes by heart for baked goods he ’ d never before encountered but grew to take great pride in and love .
Now an owner , he runs the bakery ’ s operations .
His 25-year-old son Raymond is the company ’ s president .
His son Alexis , 23 , recently started working behind the counter .
For years , survivors of World War II concentration camps , their camp numbers tattooed on @ @ @ @ @ @ @ their children .
No longer .
But today ’ s Diamond remains a family affair .
Raymond , who also works an office job elsewhere , had a lot of plans to freshen up the plain space — and achieved some of them before the coronavirus hit .
The bakery got its first credit card reader , its first coffee bar ( with a professional espresso machine he purchased with his own money ) .
He brought in freshly roasted beans from LAMill .
He installed chalkboards from the ceiling listing the baked @ @ @ @ @ @ @ $ 1 bagels , $ 4 for a rye or a challah , $ 5 for the extra-rich challah sold only on Fridays for the sabbath — whereas before you just had to know or point .
But then came the March shutdown .
The shop shuttered for two months , followed by weeks in which the front door remained locked and customers had to find their way around back for pickups .
When it could open again , it came back to a leaner world , with a number of the big @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and butter canceled .
To get by without layoffs , the bakery cut its daily hours : before , 7 a.m. to 6 p.m. ; now , 7 a.m. to 1 p.m. Bakers ’ hours were cut too , because there was less baking to be done .
The bakery had come out fairly unscathed in the May 30 protests just outside its doors , with graffiti sprayed on a front window and a back window broken .
But many of the streetwear and sneaker shops near Diamond on Fairfax remain closed — @ @ @ @ @ @ @ here ’ s the thing about wonderful old shops like the bakery : Their most loyal customers also tend to have a few years under their belt , and many of them of late have been staying home because of their heightened virus risks .
Raymond Luna got the bakery onto all the big delivery apps .
He got it a loan under the Paycheck Protection Program and has been applying for other aid .
A few weeks ago , he launched a GoFundMe campaign , asking for public assistance .
The news @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
At last check , more than 300 people had donated close to $ 17,000 — some leaving messages : “ I ’ m transported to my childhood each time I have one of Diamond ’ s sprinkled cookies , ” “ Diamond has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember .
I don ’ t want to know what life could be like without it around.
” Those were the same sentiments I heard live in the sweet hours I spent at the bakery this week @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to have a bite of this and a bite of that , and people who told me they rarely go out took the risk to get their bites too .
One couple stopped by from San Diego .
Helene Baker came in from Camarillo , shopping for her 95-year-old father and her 89-year-old mother , and said her grandparents used to sell Diamond baked goods from their mom and pop shop nearby .
Newcomers showed up too , lured by the passion of the bakery ’ s fans who have been rallying support @ @ @ @ @ @ @ for Diamond .
Other places that keep our city rich in character and history need cheerleaders too .
They need our visits .
They need our financial support .
Some that don ’ t have the youthful tech savvy that Diamond has in-house probably could use a little donated help to start their own campaigns or share their stories online .
Check up on those places it would break your heart to lose , please .
Do it today .
Do it now .
Don ’ t wait to weep — in a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ times — when you learn too late of their demise .

Alexes Luna helps a customer at Diamond Bakery on Fairfax Avenue. The store has been around since 1946, but sales have plummeted during the pandemic.
Think of the one-of-a-kind, old-time stores and restaurants you would mourn if they suddenly disappeared — the waiters and waitresses who have served up your treasured taste memories for years, the shopkeepers you drive across town to see because they stock wonders you can find nowhere else.
How are they doing now? Are they managing to make ends meet in the pandemic? Have you dropped by? Have you called and asked? Is there something you could do to help?
Consider the story I’m about to tell you a plea to check in — before it’s too late, before you learn that what is irreplaceable is gone.
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It’s a story about how one such Los Angeles favorite has been struggling mightily to get through this tough time — and may just do so if this crisis we’re in does not go on forever, now that it has spread the word of its troubles. It’s also a reminder that so many other gems scattered all over our city surely could use more of our attention and the dollars we’re spending online.
Raida Shieban started working for Diamond Bakery, off and on, in 1988. (Myung J. Chun/Los Angeles Times)
The other day, I stood inside Diamond Bakery on Fairfax Avenue and eavesdropped on this plaintive exchange, conducted through face masks, between Marlene Friedman, 72, a lifelong customer, who was picking up four round loaves of corn rye, and Maggie Ballesteros, who has worked behind the long, glass counter for 14 years.
“You better stay open.”
“We’re trying.”
“I don’t know what I would do if you weren’t here.”
You would understand if you’ve ever tasted the corn rye or the challah or the raisin pumpernickel (sold in moist hunks by the pound) baked daily at Diamond. It’s possible that you have even if you’ve never set foot in the utterly unassuming shop, which is exceedingly easy to miss if you don’t know to look for it.
Slices of Diamond bread long have bookended stacks of corned beef and pastrami at some of the city’s finest delis. They’ve played uncredited roles at restaurants and stalls in the Original Farmers Market down the street. The shop’s unattributed loaves, pastries, cookies and cakes have appeared in many dining establishments and in supermarket bakery aisles. People who know their baking know that Diamond is the real deal. Its creations traverse Los Angeles — and are shipped nationwide to their fans.
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In the cavernous kitchen behind the store, a starter that is believed to have been active for more than 100 years turns in an enormous mixer after it is fed its daily fresh flour.
Diamond’s many recipes — for ryes, challah, babka, rugelach, bourekas, hamantaschen, strudel, Russian coffee cake, cheesecake, racetrack cake swirled and topped with rich chocolate — are well over three-quarters of a century old. They were brought to the West Coast from New York by the Eastern European immigrants who opened the shop in 1946, though details of that history have faded even as the traditions live on.
Late last year, the last member of the Jewish family that had run the bakery since the 1970s retired, tossing out memorabilia as he prepared to close his doors. But while he was more than ready to be done with the bakery, the bakery wasn’t ready to be done. A group of longtime employees — Latino bakers; Raida Shieban (born in Israel), who rules the bakery counter — had over the years formed their own sort of family and pooled their resources to purchase it.
Ramon Luna runs the bakery’s operations. (Myung J. Chun/Los Angeles Times)
Ramon Luna, 49, who came to Los Angeles from Mexico when he was a teenager, found his way to Diamond soon after. He started out sweeping and washing up, then became a baker’s assistant, then gradually won the trust of the owners and learned the recipes by heart for baked goods he’d never before encountered but grew to take great pride in and love.
Now an owner, he runs the bakery’s operations. His 25-year-old son Raymond is the company’s president. His son Alexis, 23, recently started working behind the counter. For years, survivors of World War II concentration camps, their camp numbers tattooed on their arms, worked the business alongside their children. No longer. But today’s Diamond remains a family affair.
Raymond, who also works an office job elsewhere, had a lot of plans to freshen up the plain space — and achieved some of them before the coronavirus hit. The bakery got its first credit card reader, its first coffee bar (with a professional espresso machine he purchased with his own money). He brought in freshly roasted beans from LAMill. He installed chalkboards from the ceiling listing the baked goods and their shockingly low prices — $1 bagels, $4 for a rye or a challah, $5 for the extra-rich challah sold only on Fridays for the sabbath — whereas before you just had to know or point.
But then came the March shutdown. The shop shuttered for two months, followed by weeks in which the front door remained locked and customers had to find their way around back for pickups. When it could open again, it came back to a leaner world, with a number of the big wholesale accounts that are its real bread and butter canceled.
Seating areas are blocked off at Diamond Bakery on Fairfax Avenue. (Myung J. Chun/Los Angeles Times)
To get by without layoffs, the bakery cut its daily hours: before, 7 a.m. to 6 p.m.; now, 7 a.m. to 1 p.m. Bakers’ hours were cut too, because there was less baking to be done. The bakery had come out fairly unscathed in the May 30 protests just outside its doors, with graffiti sprayed on a front window and a back window broken.
But many of the streetwear and sneaker shops near Diamond on Fairfax remain closed — taking away daily foot traffic. And here’s the thing about wonderful old shops like the bakery: Their most loyal customers also tend to have a few years under their belt, and many of them of late have been staying home because of their heightened virus risks.
California City Beat: L.A. is losing its weird edges to bland, boxy and Instagram-friendly I don’t know about you, but I like my Los Angeles served with a big scoop of Wild West on top.
Raymond Luna got the bakery onto all the big delivery apps. He got it a loan under the Paycheck Protection Program and has been applying for other aid. A few weeks ago, he launched a GoFundMe campaign, asking for public assistance. The news quickly spread on blogs and social media. At last check, more than 300 people had donated close to $17,000 — some leaving messages: “I’m transported to my childhood each time I have one of Diamond’s sprinkled cookies,” “Diamond has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. I don’t want to know what life could be like without it around.”
Those were the same sentiments I heard live in the sweet hours I spent at the bakery this week, as the staff kept urging me to have a bite of this and a bite of that, and people who told me they rarely go out took the risk to get their bites too. One couple stopped by from San Diego. Helene Baker came in from Camarillo, shopping for her 95-year-old father and her 89-year-old mother, and said her grandparents used to sell Diamond baked goods from their mom and pop shop nearby.
Diamond Bakery employee Raida Shieban helps longtime customer Virginia Karp. (Myung J. Chun/Los Angeles Times)
Newcomers showed up too, lured by the passion of the bakery’s fans who have been rallying support.
So many people now are rallying for Diamond. Other places that keep our city rich in character and history need cheerleaders too. They need our visits. They need our financial support. Some that don’t have the youthful tech savvy that Diamond has in-house probably could use a little donated help to start their own campaigns or share their stories online.
Check up on those places it would break your heart to lose, please. Do it today. Do it now.
Don’t wait to weep — in a scenario I’ve written too many times — when you learn too late of their demise.


latimes--2020-08-15--Low-wage workers face retaliation for demanding COVID-19 safety measures at work

In early June , Lizzet Aguilar went on a four-day strike .
She demanded that the McDonald ’ s location in Boyle Heights where she worked provide employees with adequate protective equipment and enforce social distancing to fight the coronavirus .
Aguilar , 35 , said that a supervisor treated her more harshly after the strike in retaliation for her activism , telling her to work faster and instructing other employees not to help her .
“ She was tougher with me , stricter , and started to yell more , ” Aguilar said .
Coronavirus cases have surged in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ fueled by the reopening of the economy .
Though public health officials say making workplaces safer is essential to slowing the virus ’ spread , fear of retaliation is preventing many employees from voicing safety concerns , workers and labor organizers say .
The toll has been particularly hard on essential workers , a sizable percentage of whom are people of color toiling in factories , hospitals , retail establishments , hotels and agricultural fields across the state .
Many who are reluctant to speak up are low-wage workers in the country illegally @ @ @ @ @ @ @ unemployment benefits .
They worry that if they are fired , they may not find another job in a hard-hit economy and won ’ t have a safety net .
“ They ’ re not willing to risk their job security even though they ’ re risking their own health and their own safety … in a workplace where an employer is not providing the proper protections , ” said Nicole Marquez-Baker , director of policy and legal services at the advocacy group Worksafe .
California law protects workers against retaliation for voicing @ @ @ @ @ @ @ hazardous work .
Those who feel they have been targeted can file a lawsuit or submit a claim with the state labor commissioner ’ s office .
Since Gov .
Gavin Newsom issued a stay-at-home order March 19 , the office ’ s Retaliation Complaint Investigation Unit has received more than 300 claims that mentioned the coronavirus .
Of those , at least 95 are under investigation for health and safety issues , such as failure to enforce mandates on masks and physical distancing .
The number probably reflects “ a fraction of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ said Amie Bergin , a senior deputy labor commissioner who works in the unit .
“ Many of the workers we are seeing who are filing complaints are essential workers , many of them are undocumented workers , and they really are on the front lines of the pandemic , ” she said .
The issue of retaliation has been brought to the forefront as government agencies ask workers for help holding business accountable for safety violations .
The L.A. County Board of Supervisors recently passed a motion to consider creating public health @ @ @ @ @ @ @ noncompliance .
Such councils might provide a more secure forum for employees fearing retaliation .
County Health Officer Dr. Muntu Davis also has encouraged residents to report businesses they suspect are not disclosing positive cases .
The coronavirus surge among Latino workers has alarmed public health officials , with many saying the pandemic has heightened preexisting inequities and workplace exploitation .
From garment factories in Los Angeles to food processing facilities in the Central Valley , workers have said safety rules are not always followed .
When the coronavirus swept through the Los @ @ @ @ @ @ @ staged a work stoppage to demand better sanitation .
But the power dynamic — and the financial ruin of losing a job during the pandemic — has made such activism risky .
Aguilar has not returned to work at McDonald ’ s since workers staged another strike in early July , worried about getting her husband and 5-year-old son sick .
The Service Employees International Union , one of the country ’ s largest labor unions , has filed an unfair labor practice charge with the National Labor Relations Board , claiming that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ assigning more onerous tasks and enforcing rules more strictly against her , in retaliation for her union activity.
” In a statement , McDonald ’ s franchisee R & B Sanchez , which operates the Boyle Heights location , said Aguilar ’ s allegations of retaliation and safety problems “ are not true and do not at all reflect what is happening in our restaurant.
” The business , it said , provides gloves and masks to employees , adheres to physical distancing guidelines and sanitizes regularly .
As alarm about the virus @ @ @ @ @ @ @ panic attacks while working as a cashier at a Ralphs store in Mid-City .
The sight of customers crowding around checkout aisles made her feel trapped .
In late March , she brought up her concerns to the store director and was “ basically just dismissed , ” Mueller-Reiche , 34 , said .
After returning from medical leave in April , she asked the director about closing every other cash register but said she was accused of “ creating drama.
” Mueller-Reiche then took two more weeks of medical leave , and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , supervisors and store management told her that customers had complained about her being rude when asking them to maintain physical distance .
In late May , she was told she was suspended and presented with a written warning that cited “ inappropriate comments to management member , ” “ inappropriate behavior ” and “ previous inappropriate behavior by bringing spouse into the breakroom.
” There was no elaboration .
“ I believe they don ’ t want to deal with me … that it ’ s too much of a hassle to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Mueller-Reiche , who received help from her union , United Food and Commercial Workers Local 770 , in filing a retaliation claim .
In a statement , Ralphs said it has “ taken extensive measures to safeguard our associates , customers and supply chain ” — including limiting store capacity to 25 % of normal .
Ralphs did not answer questions about the alleged retaliation , indicating that the company is handling the grievance according to its policy .
Other workers have claimed that their hours were reduced as punishment for going on @ @ @ @ @ @ @ delivery driver at a Domino ’ s location in West Adams , and his co-workers went on strike in April after they learned about several coronavirus cases in their store .
The strikers asked for a deep cleaning of the restaurant , adequate protective equipment and notifications for exposed workers so that they could quarantine .
During the strike , which lasted about three weeks , Contreras was hospitalized with COVID-19 .
He later isolated himself in a hotel because he worried about infecting his family and took out a loan to cover @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to work in early May , Contreras said , his hours — and those of other employees who had gone on strike — had been cut by about half .
In a statement , franchise owner Brent Hamill said he has established safety precautions that include advising sick workers to stay home and checking employees ’ temperatures .
He said claims that the restaurant had not alerted workers who may have been exposed to the virus were false .
As for reducing workers ’ hours , Hamill wrote that the restaurant was short-staffed @ @ @ @ @ @ @ had been scheduled for more than their typical hours .
“ Since COVID-19 , with millions of people being laid off from their job , we have been able to fully staff , which reduces employee fatigue , creating a safer workplace , and allows new team members to provide for their families , ” he said .
“ We try to evenly distribute hours to all employees , we simply have more team members now.
” Labor advocates said workers should be aware of the risk in speaking out .
Renee Amador @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Trust Fund , a statewide watchdog group that supports janitors , said it may be advisable for employees to raise concerns in writing , such as a text message to a supervisor , or to bring a witness when confronting a boss in person .
Workers alleging retaliation need only to assert they had “ a good-faith belief ” that working conditions were unsafe , said the labor commission ’ s Bergin .
Retaliation can include termination , a pay or hours cut , or a move to a less desirable shift .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ domestic workers , who are excluded from protections provided by California ’ s Division of Occupational Safety and Health .
A bill pending in the state Legislature would provide them those rights .
Cruz , a 35-year-old Mexican woman who cleans houses in Beverly Hills , requested to be identified only by her last name because she ’ s worried about losing work for speaking out .
Many employers expect domestic workers to provide their own protective equipment , she said , and amid the pandemic want their homes disinfected with stronger chemicals @ @ @ @ @ @ @ keep quiet so that you don ’ t suffer consequences , ” Cruz said .
“ You need more protections , but you also need to work .
”

Lizzet Aguilar said that after she participated in a strike at a McDonald’s location in Boyle Heights over unsafe working conditions, a supervisor retaliated against her by making her job more onerous.
In early June, Lizzet Aguilar went on a four-day strike. She demanded that the McDonald’s location in Boyle Heights where she worked provide employees with adequate protective equipment and enforce social distancing to fight the coronavirus.
Aguilar, 35, said that a supervisor treated her more harshly after the strike in retaliation for her activism, telling her to work faster and instructing other employees not to help her.
“She was tougher with me, stricter, and started to yell more,” Aguilar said.
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Coronavirus cases have surged in California over the last two months, fueled by the reopening of the economy. Though public health officials say making workplaces safer is essential to slowing the virus’ spread, fear of retaliation is preventing many employees from voicing safety concerns, workers and labor organizers say.
The toll has been particularly hard on essential workers, a sizable percentage of whom are people of color toiling in factories, hospitals, retail establishments, hotels and agricultural fields across the state. Many who are reluctant to speak up are low-wage workers in the country illegally, who don’t qualify for unemployment benefits. They worry that if they are fired, they may not find another job in a hard-hit economy and won’t have a safety net.
“They’re not willing to risk their job security even though they’re risking their own health and their own safety … in a workplace where an employer is not providing the proper protections,” said Nicole Marquez-Baker, director of policy and legal services at the advocacy group Worksafe.
California law protects workers against retaliation for voicing safety concerns or refusing to engage in hazardous work. Those who feel they have been targeted can file a lawsuit or submit a claim with the state labor commissioner’s office.
Since Gov. Gavin Newsom issued a stay-at-home order March 19, the office’s Retaliation Complaint Investigation Unit has received more than 300 claims that mentioned the coronavirus. Of those, at least 95 are under investigation for health and safety issues, such as failure to enforce mandates on masks and physical distancing.
The number probably reflects “a fraction of the total claims out there,” said Amie Bergin, a senior deputy labor commissioner who works in the unit.
“Many of the workers we are seeing who are filing complaints are essential workers, many of them are undocumented workers, and they really are on the front lines of the pandemic,” she said.
The issue of retaliation has been brought to the forefront as government agencies ask workers for help holding business accountable for safety violations. The L.A. County Board of Supervisors recently passed a motion to consider creating public health councils composed of workers who would report noncompliance. Such councils might provide a more secure forum for employees fearing retaliation. County Health Officer Dr. Muntu Davis also has encouraged residents to report businesses they suspect are not disclosing positive cases.
The coronavirus surge among Latino workers has alarmed public health officials, with many saying the pandemic has heightened preexisting inequities and workplace exploitation. From garment factories in Los Angeles to food processing facilities in the Central Valley, workers have said safety rules are not always followed. When the coronavirus swept through the Los Angeles Apparel factory this summer, workers staged a work stoppage to demand better sanitation.
But the power dynamic — and the financial ruin of losing a job during the pandemic — has made such activism risky.
Aguilar has not returned to work at McDonald’s since workers staged another strike in early July, worried about getting her husband and 5-year-old son sick.
Advertisement
The Service Employees International Union, one of the country’s largest labor unions, has filed an unfair labor practice charge with the National Labor Relations Board, claiming that McDonald’s punished Aguilar “by assigning more onerous tasks and enforcing rules more strictly against her, in retaliation for her union activity.”
In a statement, McDonald’s franchisee R&B Sanchez, which operates the Boyle Heights location, said Aguilar’s allegations of retaliation and safety problems “are not true and do not at all reflect what is happening in our restaurant.” The business, it said, provides gloves and masks to employees, adheres to physical distancing guidelines and sanitizes regularly.
Mary Mueller-Reiche, a cashier at a Ralphs store in Mid-City, said she was disciplined after raising concerns about overcrowding. (Kent Nishimura / Los Angeles Times)
As alarm about the virus grew this year, Mary Mueller-Reiche suffered panic attacks while working as a cashier at a Ralphs store in Mid-City. The sight of customers crowding around checkout aisles made her feel trapped.
In late March, she brought up her concerns to the store director and was “basically just dismissed,” Mueller-Reiche, 34, said. After returning from medical leave in April, she asked the director about closing every other cash register but said she was accused of “creating drama.”
Mueller-Reiche then took two more weeks of medical leave, and upon returning to work, she said, supervisors and store management told her that customers had complained about her being rude when asking them to maintain physical distance.
In late May, she was told she was suspended and presented with a written warning that cited “inappropriate comments to management member,” “inappropriate behavior” and “previous inappropriate behavior by bringing spouse into the breakroom.” There was no elaboration.
“I believe they don’t want to deal with me … that it’s too much of a hassle to respond to safety concerns,” said Mueller-Reiche, who received help from her union, United Food and Commercial Workers Local 770, in filing a retaliation claim.
In a statement, Ralphs said it has “taken extensive measures to safeguard our associates, customers and supply chain” — including limiting store capacity to 25% of normal. Ralphs did not answer questions about the alleged retaliation, indicating that the company is handling the grievance according to its policy.
Other workers have claimed that their hours were reduced as punishment for going on strike.
Carlos Contreras, a 62-year-old delivery driver at a Domino’s location in West Adams, and his co-workers went on strike in April after they learned about several coronavirus cases in their store.
Domino’s “didn’t say absolutely anything,” Contreras said.
The strikers asked for a deep cleaning of the restaurant, adequate protective equipment and notifications for exposed workers so that they could quarantine. During the strike, which lasted about three weeks, Contreras was hospitalized with COVID-19. He later isolated himself in a hotel because he worried about infecting his family and took out a loan to cover the $1,300 stay.
Upon returning to work in early May, Contreras said, his hours — and those of other employees who had gone on strike — had been cut by about half.
In a statement, franchise owner Brent Hamill said he has established safety precautions that include advising sick workers to stay home and checking employees’ temperatures. He said claims that the restaurant had not alerted workers who may have been exposed to the virus were false.
As for reducing workers’ hours, Hamill wrote that the restaurant was short-staffed before the pandemic and that some employees had been scheduled for more than their typical hours. “Since COVID-19, with millions of people being laid off from their job, we have been able to fully staff, which reduces employee fatigue, creating a safer workplace, and allows new team members to provide for their families,” he said. “We try to evenly distribute hours to all employees, we simply have more team members now.”
Labor advocates said workers should be aware of the risk in speaking out.
Renee Amador, legal director of the Maintenance Cooperation Trust Fund, a statewide watchdog group that supports janitors, said it may be advisable for employees to raise concerns in writing, such as a text message to a supervisor, or to bring a witness when confronting a boss in person.
Workers alleging retaliation need only to assert they had “a good-faith belief” that working conditions were unsafe, said the labor commission’s Bergin. Retaliation can include termination, a pay or hours cut, or a move to a less desirable shift.
The issue is harder to address among domestic workers, who are excluded from protections provided by California’s Division of Occupational Safety and Health. A bill pending in the state Legislature would provide them those rights.
Cruz, a 35-year-old Mexican woman who cleans houses in Beverly Hills, requested to be identified only by her last name because she’s worried about losing work for speaking out. Many employers expect domestic workers to provide their own protective equipment, she said, and amid the pandemic want their homes disinfected with stronger chemicals.
“It’s better to keep quiet so that you don’t suffer consequences,” Cruz said. “You need more protections, but you also need to work.”