latimes--2020-04-18--As coronavirus rages, a Vietnamese diva falls silent. But her legend lives on

The men playing mah-jongg and sipping iced coffee had retreated .
Many Westminster shop owners had shuttered their stores , once filled with soybean milk and war memoirs and shiny Buddha statues .
Little Saigon was in lockdown ; the sense of loss was palpable .
And in the yellowing pages of a local Vietnamese-language newspaper , stories paid tribute to a beloved voice that also had fallen silent in the midst of the global pandemic .
Thai Thanh , the diva who reigned over Vietnamese American popular music for nearly six decades , passed away in virus-battered March , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ venture out to pay their respects .
The 85-year-old icon started her singing career at age 14 in her native Hanoi , merging northern Vietnamese folk songs , French music and Western opera into a hybrid genre called “ Tan Nhac , ” the so-called New Music of Vietnam .
A few weeks ago , family members honored the matriarch of three generations of performers in a somber service , paying their respects and bidding goodbye as her casket was carried through a Westminster mortuary .
The procession flowed through Little Saigon , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Vietnamese American artists have come to present artworks , perform music and recite prose and poetry .
“ Can you imagine — she is a household name like an Elizabeth Taylor — beautiful , magnetic , supremely talented , and to be memorialized missing all her admirers .
It is tragic and romantic at the same time , ” said Stacey Nguyen , a businesswoman and fan from San Jose .
Hoa Dinh , a retired teaching aide from Anaheim , also was among the social-distancing mourners .
“ It ’ s just @ @ @ @ @ @ @ this is a person who had such influence and who was so entrancing on the stage , that she would go quietly , ” Dinh said .
“ I felt such pain at not being able to be there among what would be a crowd of thousands to offer my tribute.
” In California , fans who followed Thai Thanh ’ s career from its burgeoning days in what was then French Indochina said that the collective catharsis of a community has yet to be realized .
Born Pham Thi Bang Thanh on @ @ @ @ @ @ @ died on March 17 after enduring a long illness .
In spite of her public persona , she was an intensely private woman , faithful to meditation .
She ’ d been conducting voice classes before retiring and had suffered her first stroke just over two decades ago .
She ’ d also been singing occasionally , especially at celebrations , and her last appearances , in her early seventies , saw her commanding the stage in a mother-daughter duet for a Paris By Night video production , along with recording a CD @ @ @ @ @ @ @ both daughters and multiple grandchildren .
“ There are many , many successful entertainers .
But Thai Thanh was more than that , ” Dinh continued .
“ She was a symbol of the grace of Vietnam — as devoted to motherhood as she was to the arts .
I ’ m using this month when we have to stay indoors to tell the younger generation more about her work and her impact.
” In 1950 , as the singer launched her solo career , after performing with the family band known as @ @ @ @ @ @ @ bands in her homeland during the 20th century — she took on the stage name Thai Thanh .
She had an older brother , Pham Dinh Chuong , a prominent singer who performed as Hoai Bac ; and an older sister , Pham Thi Quang Thai , who headlined concerts as Thai Hang and who later married Pham Duy , the country ’ s most prolific songwriter , with whom Thai Thanh had a long collaboration .
She won acclaim with many of his works , including “ Ky Niem ” or “ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Xanh ” or “ Blue Stream ” inspired by the Blue Danube .
During the years spanning the Vietnam War , her star would ascend as she breathed life into his ballads and those of other composers such as Tu Cong Phung , Ngo Thuy Mien and Van Cao .
Thai Thanh and her husband , actor Le Quynh , had five children , among them daughters Y Lan and Quynh Giao , her torch bearers who later immersed in singing careers of their own .
Y Lan ’ s eldest daughter , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ singer .
After 1975 , following the end of the Vietnam War , Thai Thanh was banned by the new communist government and could no longer perform in public .
She emigrated in 1986 to Little Saigon and renewed her career as part of an artists diaspora .
“ I remember seeing photos of her first concert in O.C .
and I thought to myself , ‘ Finally , the sweetest voice with a lilt to it that I ’ ve been waiting to hear has come to America , free to share @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” recalled Tuan Tran , a former electronics technician who was standing in line in Garden Grove last week to receive donated sacks filled with rice , masks and ramen which he planned to bring back to senior neighbors .
Another fan , Mai-Phuong Nguyen , a physician from Huntington Beach , said Thai Thanh had a timeless voice “ touching many generations.
” When she was growing up in Fairfax , Va. , her father constantly played the diva ’ s music .
One recent morning , after the performer ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to hear the familiar songs blasting on YouTube from her dad ’ s bedroom .
“ I think when you ’ re introduced to something as a child , it becomes part of your identity , ” Nguyen said .
“ My father really held onto her music , as it ’ s music that ties culture together.
” “ It ’ s heartbreaking she did not have a formal funeral , as funerals are a big deal to our elders and a rite of passage , ” she added .
“ Or @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
Sometimes , people who are superstars would prefer a private ceremony.
” Vietnamese expatriates around the U.S. and the world had supported Thai Thanh ’ s resurgence , at times traveling to California , other states and Canada to see her perform in person .
On March 25 , they tuned in by the tens of thousands to watch her tender memorial , livestreamed on Facebook .
Both performer daughters , Y Lan and Quynh Giao , whose stage name is Quynh Huong , and her eldest son , Viet Le , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Lan symbolized “ the color of sweetness , the color of happiness ” over the traditional black with white headbands favored for Vietnamese services .
“ Mother has lived in this world with countless happiness with her family , her children , her grandchildren and especially all of her audience , ” she added , saying she has never felt “ such deep pain ” as with her passing .
On the day they said their farewells , Thai Thanh ’ s beloved , linking arms and hands behind the hearse , softly @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Xa Cach ” or “ Farewell of a Thousand Leagues , ” an unforgettable hit , as the car slowly made its way toward a crematorium in Westminster .
In this era of physical distancing , they had rushed to get official permission to have a tiny Buddhist funeral gathering .
They broke down , again and again , sobbing .
Missing from the mourners was her youngest child , son Michael Dai , afflicted with spinal polio .
Thai Thanh had helped supervise his care until he died , nine years before @ @ @ @ @ @ @ mother .
We love you , ” Y Lan lamented , pausing for a moment of silence beside the gladiolas and orchids covering the casket .
She and the family sang until the final note , just as the diva would have .

The men playing mah-jongg and sipping iced coffee had retreated. Many Westminster shop owners had shuttered their stores, once filled with soybean milk and war memoirs and shiny Buddha statues.
Little Saigon was in lockdown; the sense of loss was palpable. And in the yellowing pages of a local Vietnamese-language newspaper, stories paid tribute to a beloved voice that also had fallen silent in the midst of the global pandemic.
Thai Thanh, the diva who reigned over Vietnamese American popular music for nearly six decades, died in virus-battered March, leaving her legions of fans unable to venture out to pay their respects. The 85-year-old icon started her singing career at age 14 in her native Hanoi, merging northern Vietnamese folk songs, French music and Western opera into a hybrid genre called “Tan Nhac,” the so-called New Music of Vietnam.
A few weeks ago, family members honored the matriarch of three generations of performers in a somber service, paying their respects and bidding goodbye as her casket was carried through a Westminster mortuary. The procession flowed through Little Saigon, a cultural district where traditional and modern Vietnamese American artists have come to present artworks, perform music and recite prose and poetry.
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“Can you imagine — she is a household name like an Elizabeth Taylor — beautiful, magnetic, supremely talented, and to be memorialized missing all her admirers. It is tragic and romantic at the same time,” said Stacey Nguyen, a businesswoman and fan from San Jose.
Hoa Dinh, a retired teaching aide from Anaheim, also was among the socially distancing mourners.
“It’s just so, so sad to think that this is a person who had such influence and who was so entrancing on the stage, that she would go quietly,” Dinh said. “I felt such pain at not being able to be there among what would be a crowd of thousands to offer my tribute.”
In California, fans who followed Thai Thanh’s career from its burgeoning days in what was then French Indochina said that the collective catharsis of a community has yet to be realized.
Born Pham Thi Bang Thanh on Aug. 5, 1934, the singer died on March 17 after enduring a long illness. In spite of her public persona, she was an intensely private woman, faithful to meditation. She’d been conducting voice classes before retiring and had suffered her first stroke just over two decades ago.
She’d also been singing occasionally, especially at celebrations, and her last appearances, in her early 70s, saw her commanding the stage in a mother-daughter duet for a Paris by Night video production, along with recording a CD titled “3 Generations,” featuring both daughters and multiple grandchildren.
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“There are many, many successful entertainers. But Thai Thanh was more than that,” Dinh continued. “She was a symbol of the grace of Vietnam — as devoted to motherhood as she was to the arts. I’m using this month when we have to stay indoors to tell the younger generation more about her work and her impact.”
Singers Y Lan and Quynh Huong, daughters of diva Thai Thanh, and their brother Viet Le wore pink for their mother’s memorial service, saying the color brought her happiness. (Nguoi Viet Daily News)
In 1950, as the singer launched her solo career, after performing with the family band known as Thang Long — among the first widely known bands in her homeland during the 20th century — she took on the stage name Thai Thanh.
She had an older brother, Pham Dinh Chuong, a prominent singer who performed as Hoai Bac; and an older sister, Pham Thi Quang Thai, who headlined concerts as Thai Hang and who later married Pham Duy, the country’s most prolific songwriter, with whom Thai Thanh had a long collaboration. She won acclaim with many of his works, including “Ky Niem” or “Memory,” and “Dong Song Xanh” or “Blue Stream” inspired by the Blue Danube. During the years spanning the Vietnam War, her star would ascend as she breathed life into his ballads and those of other composers such as Tu Cong Phung, Ngo Thuy Mien and Van Cao.
Thai Thanh and her husband, actor Le Quynh, had five children, among them daughters Y Lan and Quynh Giao, her torch bearers who later immersed in singing careers of their own. Y Lan’s eldest daughter, Mai Linh, is also an accomplished singer.
After 1975, following the end of the Vietnam War, Thai Thanh was banned by the new communist government and could no longer perform in public. She emigrated in 1986 to Little Saigon and renewed her career as part of an artists diaspora.
“I remember seeing photos of her first concert in O.C. and I thought to myself, ‘Finally, the sweetest voice with a lilt to it that I’ve been waiting to hear has come to America, free to share her music and bring us joy,” recalled Tuan Tran, a former electronics technician who was standing in line in Garden Grove last week to receive donated sacks filled with rice, masks and ramen, which he planned to bring back to senior neighbors.
Another fan, Mai-Phuong Nguyen, a physician from Huntington Beach, said Thai Thanh had a timeless voice “touching many generations.” When she was growing up in Fairfax, Va., her father constantly played the diva’s music. One recent morning, after the performer’s death, Nguyen woke at 2 a.m. to hear the familiar songs blasting on YouTube from her dad’s bedroom.
“I think when you’re introduced to something as a child, it becomes part of your identity,” Nguyen said. “My father really held on to her music, as it’s music that ties culture together.”
“It’s heartbreaking she did not have a formal funeral, as funerals are a big deal to our elders and a rite of passage,” she added. “Or maybe it’s a mixed blessing. Sometimes, people who are superstars would prefer a private ceremony.”
Vietnamese expatriates around the U.S. and the world had supported Thai Thanh’s resurgence, at times traveling to California, other states and Canada to see her perform in person. On March 25, they tuned in by the hundreds of thousands to watch her tender memorial, livestreamed on Facebook.
Both performer daughters, Y Lan and Quynh Giao, whose stage name is Quynh Huong, and her eldest son, Viet Le, wore pink, which according to Y Lan symbolized “the color of sweetness, the color of happiness” over the traditional black with white headbands favored for Vietnamese services. “Mother has lived in this world with countless happiness with her family, her children, her grandchildren and especially all of her audience,” she added, saying she has never felt “such deep pain” as with her death.
On the day they said their farewells, Thai Thanh’s beloved, linking arms and hands behind the hearse, softly intoned the lyrics to “Nghin Trung Xa Cach” or “Farewell of a Thousand Leagues,” an unforgettable hit, as the car slowly made its way toward a crematorium at Westminster Memorial Park. In this era of physical distancing, they had rushed to get official permission to have a tiny Buddhist funeral gathering. They broke down, again and again, sobbing.
Missing from the mourners was her youngest child, son Michael Dai, afflicted with spinal polio. Thai Thanh had helped supervise his care until he died, nine years before his mother.
“Mother, oh mother. We love you,” Y Lan lamented, pausing for a moment of silence beside the gladiolas and orchids covering the casket. She and the family sang until the final note, just as the diva would have.


latimes--2020-04-18--Coronavirus rules challenge Holocaust memorial tradition, but it survives

Edith Izsak was 13 when the persecution of Jews reached her small Romanian village in 1944 .
Her parents were farmers and her family “ quite comfortable , ” until Hungarian gendarmes , doing the bidding of Nazi Germany , showed up .
“ A few weeks later came the rule that every Jew had to wear the yellow star , ” she recalled .
And Edith went from popular to pariah , tormented by classmates who pelted her with rocks and mud and taunts of “ dirty Jew.
” “ I couldn ’ t understand , ” she says @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ t dirty yesterday , why am I dirty now ?
” What she didn ’ t understand was that her family , and the three other Jewish households in town , had been marked for death during German dictator Adolf Hitler ’ s genocidal reign .
Edith and her older sister Eva would survive the brutality of Nazi concentration camps , including time in Auschwitz and a labor camp in occupied Latvia .
She would never see her parents or younger siblings again .
But 17 years later , when she moved @ @ @ @ @ @ @ survivor George Frankie — and their son , Edith Frankie would find a community of Holocaust survivors who understood their ordeal .
Every spring they ’ d gather with hundreds of others at the Los Angeles Museum of the Holocaust on Yom HaShoah — the international Holocaust Remembrance Day — to mourn those who perished and honor the survivors .
But that holy tradition has been upended this year by a new enemy : COVID-19 .
Coronavirus social distancing rules ban the sort of communal gathering that survivors and families of the dead @ @ @ @ @ @ @ years .
So on Sunday , the museum in Pan Pacific Park will host a virtual remembrance ceremony instead , marking the 75th anniversary of liberation and the end of the Holocaust .
Survivors , supporters and grieving families all across the county can watch on Facebook Live or gather on Zoom to participate .
“ It ’ s the one day when the world comes together for mourning or remembrance , ” said museum CEO Beth Kean .
“ We share stories , light candles , recite prayers for the dead .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ to honor them in the traditional Jewish ways because they didn ’ t know where or when they died.
” It ’ s always an emotional memorial , and Kean — the granddaughter of Holocaust survivors — understands that guests will miss that sense of fellowship .
But she also knows how dangerous the coronavirus can be .
Kean was diagnosed with the virus last month after she returned from a visit to Israel , where her college daughter is studying abroad .
“ It took a good two weeks ” for her @ @ @ @ @ @ @ she said .
And while COVID-19 may temporarily reshape the tradition , the pandemic also makes it more meaningful this year .
“ We feel like the ceremony this year is more important that ever , ” Kean said .
“ We ’ re at home all the time ; people are lonely , people are scared , people have uncertainty.
” And for survivors particularly , the rise in the last few years of anti-Semitic acts has been a disturbing reminder of how quickly ordinary people can embrace intolerance and cruelty .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ she was as a teenager to realize that Germany was the architect of the mass extermination campaign that would take the lives of 6 million Jews .
Even as they smelled death in the smoke rising from the crematorium at Auschwitz , Edith and Eva refused to believe .
“ We said this is impossible .
It must be a nightmare , ” Edith recalled .
“ We ’ re going to wake up and be in our own beds .
“ We couldn ’ t comprehend ; how could they burn people @ @ @ @ @ @ @ nation in those days .
So it ’ s impossible they would do such a cruelty — just because of our religion , not because of any crime we did.
” The last time Edith saw her parents and two younger siblings , Andre and Lily , they were at the entrance to Auschwitz , when guards forced the prisoners into two separate lines .
She and Eva were ushered into the camp ; her family in the other line was left behind .
They ’ d been forced from their home weeks @ @ @ @ @ @ @ meal and three changes of clothes .
Edith wanted to pack her best outfits .
“ But my mother , I guess , had some intuition ; she said take the sturdiest shoes and the warmest clothes you have.
” They were hauled on a wagon to the outskirts of a city 15 miles away .
“ It was a place where we used to go for treats , with a kosher restaurant and a movie theater where we saw ‘ The Wizard of Oz ’ , ” Edith recalled .
This time @ @ @ @ @ @ @ courtyard , blockaded with heavy locked doors — and packed with thousands of strangers wearing yellow stars .
“ It was the ghetto , ” Edith said .
“ With 6,000 Jews , all from different little towns .
Anytime I talk about this , I can still see those heavy metal doors , painted green.
” The family ’ s next trip was a cattle car to the concentration camp .
I talked with Edith on the phone for two hours about the year she spent at the mercy of the Nazi @ @ @ @ @ @ @ horrors she recounted , and astounded by her equanimity .
Woven through stories of being starved , beaten and forced to carry dead bodies were memories of hope and grace : The older prisoners who taught the girls to cook for the families they might have .
The guard who tricked his comrades into thinking he ’ d administered a beating to Edith and the other Hungarian Jews ; he spared them because he was Hungarian too .
And then there was the sight of the Statue of Liberty , as she sailed @ @ @ @ @ @ @ crowd broke out in ‘ God Bless America , ’ ” she recalled .
“ I still get goose bumps every time I hear that song.
” Edith is 88 now , widowed since 2016 , retired from the beauty shop she owned , and enjoying life in a Jewish retirement community .
She ’ s shared her story all across the country , at museums , schools and universities .
She ’ ll be speaking on Sunday at the Museum of the Holocaust ’ s virtual Yom HaShoah event .
But her @ @ @ @ @ @ @ circle of Holocaust survivors , the people who love them and the folks who join the museum on Sunday in honoring lives lost .
In this era of lockdowns , shortages and social distancing , it ’ s easy to feel deprived or put upon .
But as Edith narrated , without a hint of self-pity , the horrors she ’ s been through , I realized how puny my own grievances are : I ’ m running out of toilet paper , I miss seeing my daughters and I really need a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ survivors keep reminding us , we ’ re not in prison , we ’ re not in concentration camps , ” Kean said .
“ We have our Facebook and our phones .
And we can look to them for inspiration and hope.
” We are not facing anywhere near the sort of existential threat that Europe ’ s Jews endured — a reign of terror so brutally inhumane it strains rational belief .
But we are suffering mightily during this pandemic from fear , lack , loss and loneliness .
And when @ @ @ @ @ @ @ be survivors of an era that has reshaped society .

Edith Frankie in front of the Tree of Testimony at the Los Angeles Museum of the Holocaust. The Tree of Testimony is a 70-screen video sculpture comprised of nearly 51,000 video testimonies of Holocaust survivors over the course of a single year.
Edith Izsak was 13 when the persecution of Jews reached her small Romanian village in 1944. Her parents were farmers and her family “quite comfortable,” until Hungarian gendarmes, doing the bidding of Nazi Germany, showed up.
“A few weeks later came the rule that every Jew had to wear the yellow star,” she recalled. And Edith went from popular to pariah, tormented by classmates who pelted her with rocks and mud and taunts of “dirty Jew.”
“I couldn’t understand,” she says, looking back. “I wasn’t dirty yesterday, why am I dirty now?”
Advertisement
What she didn’t understand was that her family, and the three other Jewish households in town, had been marked for death during German dictator Adolf Hitler’s genocidal reign.
Edith and her older sister Eva would survive the brutality of Nazi concentration camps, including time in Auschwitz and a labor camp in occupied Latvia. She would never see her parents or younger siblings again.
But 17 years later, when she moved to Los Angeles with her husband — survivor George Frankie — and their son, Edith Frankie would find a community of Holocaust survivors who understood their ordeal.
Every spring they’d gather with hundreds of others at the Los Angeles Museum of the Holocaust on Yom HaShoah — the international Holocaust Remembrance Day — to mourn those who perished and honor the survivors.
But that holy tradition has been upended this year by a new enemy: COVID-19. Coronavirus social distancing rules ban the sort of communal gathering that survivors and families of the dead have relied on for comfort over the years.
Undated photo of Edith Frankie, left, with her family. (Family photo)
So on Sunday, the museum in Pan Pacific Park will host a virtual remembrance ceremony instead, marking the 75th anniversary of liberation and the end of the Holocaust. Survivors, supporters and grieving families all across the county can watch on Facebook Live or gather on Zoom to participate.
“It’s the one day when the world comes together for mourning or remembrance,” said museum CEO Beth Kean. “We share stories, light candles, recite prayers for the dead. … The survivors never really were able to honor them in the traditional Jewish ways because they didn’t know where or when they died.”
Advertisement
It’s always an emotional memorial, and Kean — the granddaughter of Holocaust survivors — understands that guests will miss that sense of fellowship. But she also knows how dangerous the coronavirus can be.
Kean was diagnosed with the virus last month after she returned from a visit to Israel, where her college daughter is studying abroad.
“It took a good two weeks” for her to even begin to feel better, she said.
And while COVID-19 may temporarily reshape the tradition, the pandemic also makes it more meaningful this year.
“We feel like the ceremony this year is more important that ever,” Kean said. “We’re at home all the time; people are lonely, people are scared, people have uncertainty.”
And for survivors particularly, the rise in the last few years of anti-Semitic acts has been a disturbing reminder of how quickly ordinary people can embrace intolerance and cruelty.
Edith Frankie still vividly remembers how stunned she was as a teenager to realize that Germany was the architect of the mass extermination campaign that would take the lives of 6 million Jews.
Even as they smelled death in the smoke rising from the crematorium at Auschwitz, Edith and Eva refused to believe.
“We said this is impossible. It must be a nightmare,” Edith recalled. “We’re going to wake up and be in our own beds.
“We couldn’t comprehend; how could they burn people alive? Germany was the most intellectual nation in those days. So it’s impossible they would do such a cruelty — just because of our religion, not because of any crime we did.”
1950 photo of Edith Frankie with her husband, George Frankie. (Family photo)
The last time Edith saw her parents and two younger siblings, Andre and Lily, they were at the entrance to Auschwitz, when guards forced the prisoners into two separate lines. She and Eva were ushered into the camp; her family in the other line was left behind.
They’d been forced from their home weeks earlier, with orders to bring one meal and three changes of clothes. Edith wanted to pack her best outfits. “But my mother, I guess, had some intuition; she said take the sturdiest shoes and the warmest clothes you have.”
They were hauled on a wagon to the outskirts of a city 15 miles away. “It was a place where we used to go for treats, with a kosher restaurant and a movie theater where we saw ‘The Wizard of Oz’,” Edith recalled.
This time they were dropped off in a crowded courtyard, blockaded with heavy locked doors — and packed with thousands of strangers wearing yellow stars.
“It was the ghetto,” Edith said. “With 6,000 Jews, all from different little towns. Anytime I talk about this, I can still see those heavy metal doors, painted green.” The family’s next trip was a cattle car to the concentration camp.
I talked with Edith on the phone for two hours about the year she spent at the mercy of the Nazi regime. I was shaken by the horrors she recounted, and astounded by her equanimity.
Woven through stories of being starved, beaten and forced to carry dead bodies were memories of hope and grace: The older prisoners who taught the girls to cook for the families they might have. The guard who tricked his comrades into thinking he’d administered a beating to Edith and the other Hungarian Jews; he spared them because he was Hungarian too. And then there was the sight of the Statue of Liberty, as she sailed toward her new home.
“The crowd broke out in ‘God Bless America,’” she recalled. “I still get goose bumps every time I hear that song.”
2019 photo of Edith Frankie at her bat mitzvah in the Los Angeles Jewish Home. (Steve Cohn)
Edith is 88 now, widowed since 2016, retired from the beauty shop she owned, and enjoying life in a Jewish retirement community. She’s shared her story all across the country, at museums, schools and universities. She’ll be speaking on Sunday at the Museum of the Holocaust’s virtual Yom HaShoah event.
But her story has meaning today beyond the dwindling circle of Holocaust survivors, the people who love them and the folks who join the museum on Sunday in honoring lives lost.
In this era of lockdowns, shortages and social distancing, it’s easy to feel deprived or put upon.
But as Edith narrated, without a hint of self-pity, the horrors she’s been through, I realized how puny my own grievances are: I’m running out of toilet paper, I miss seeing my daughters and I really need a visit to the hairdresser.
“The survivors keep reminding us, we’re not in prison, we’re not in concentration camps,” Kean said. “We have our Facebook and our phones. And we can look to them for inspiration and hope.”
We are not facing anywhere near the sort of existential threat that Europe’s Jews endured — a reign of terror so brutally inhumane it strains rational belief.
But we are suffering mightily during this pandemic from fear, lack, loss and loneliness. And when this crisis is over, we will be survivors of an era that has reshaped society.


latimes--2020-04-18--Living in an airport shuttle, a musician's coronavirus lament: 'I don't know how I am going to survi

Living in an airport shuttle, a musician's coronavirus lament: 'I don't know how I am going to survive this'

Pedro Zamora grabbed his silver trumpet and began to play a song inside his new home — an airport shuttle bus .
There had been no work for more than a month , and the 68-year-old mariachi musician could not pay the $ 650 it costs to rent his room in Boyle Heights .
Despite an eviction ban , Zamora said , his landlord demanded the money , so he borrowed $ 250 from his son and moved into the black “ Auto Airport Parking ” shuttle stationed outside of Mariachi Plaza .
Like many mariachis across the United States @ @ @ @ @ @ @ cadences of life .
Mariachis play love songs at wedding receptions , songs about Mexico at festivals and dance halls ; they sing birthday songs at parties and morning serenades on Mother ’ s Day .
They subsist on joy , but they also experience sadness , upon occasion , as they witness the last goodbyes at funerals .
Then came the novel coronavirus , which choked off almost every source of revenue for the musicians who have been plying their trade , from L.A. to Texas and beyond .
Stress came in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ grind his teeth , conjuring a groaning sound like that of a tree bending on a windy day .
“ I only have a dollar in my pocket , ” Zamora said .
“ I don ’ t know how I am going to survive this.
” For nearly a century , mariachis hoping to be hired have made the plaza their home .
Economic struggles , like sad songs , were part of the gig .
Even in the best of times , a job was never guaranteed .
In recent years @ @ @ @ @ @ @ gentrification have always loomed as both physical and existential threats .
Some mariachis lost their housing during the renovation of the Boyle Hotel , a historic brick building that sits across the plaza .
The Great Recession of 2008 hit them hard .
So did construction at the Metro light rail station where the plaza lies .
It ’ s not an easy life but mariachis have persevered because of their love for their music — and what they represent .
They are a symbol of Mexican identity and pride and many of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and growth of the Mexican people .
Others speak of loves won and lost .
But whether the mariachis are singing about heartache or the motherland , jubilance often follows in their wake .
Performances that start table-side can take over an entire restaurant or party .
The diversity of everyday events where mariachis are hired to play is expansive .
In the landscape of musicians in America , perhaps only brass bands in places such as New Orleans follow a similar path , hired for weddings , funerals , birthday parties and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ has shut down most of these events .
The risk is too high for guests and for the musicians , who are often older and may have underlying health conditions that make them more vulnerable .
On a recent Wednesday afternoon , next to the plaza , near Boyle Avenue and First Street , Santos Monge , 58 , sat in his car watching a Spanish movie on his cellphone .
A green bottle filled with rubbing alcohol lay on the passenger seat .
Sometimes , when he is out of the car @ @ @ @ @ @ @ spraying himself as if it was cologne .
These days Monge , who suffers from diabetes and plays the vihuela , or a small guitar , doesn ’ t want to think much about the future .
“ I get anxious .
I start to feel depressed , ” he said .
“ I don ’ t want to think about what may happen .
I ’ ll spiral and get mentally ill just thinking , ‘ What if I get sick , what if my children get sick , or my grandchildren.
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ the coronavirus , I ’ m in real trouble.
” Arturo Ramirez , president of the Los Angeles United Mariachis Organization , said that before the coronavirus outbreak , mariachis at the plaza would typically get up to four gigs a week , making anywhere from $ 300 to $ 400 .
But it ’ s been several weeks since some of the musicians last worked .
When they are able to find work , Ramirez said the mariachis are having to adjust to social distancing , standing several feet apart from one @ @ @ @ @ @ @ time he was hired , Ramirez said , his band had to stand 15 feet away from a home as they sang “ Las Mañanitas , ” a traditional birthday song , to a woman .
“ Even though we know there ’ s not much work , we have to keep hopeful that someone will hire us , ” Ramirez said .
“ An hour or two is enough to provide us with some relief for at least a day or so.
” As a group , he says the musicians were @ @ @ @ @ @ @ by the pandemic .
Now the bills are piling up , food is running out and there is little reason to think the future will be anything but grim .
Ramirez said that about 10 mariachis who travel from Mexico to Boyle Heights to find seasonal work , from March through June , decided to go home .
“ There is nothing out there , ” Ramirez said .
“ Absolutely nothing .
Zero.
” All he can do is hope that he and the others will do better about putting money aside @ @ @ @ @ @ @ into recession .
“ Frankly , it ’ s a discussion that needs to be had.
” Many of the mariachis say they don ’ t know if they are eligible for unemployment or a stimulus check .
They work irregular hours , and some of them don ’ t have legal status in the country .
Ramirez said things have become so dire that he wrote L.A. Mayor Eric Garcetti and asked for help .
A few days later , Gavin Newsom announced a $ 125-million relief effort for immigrants without legal @ @ @ @ @ @ @ which organization will help the mariachis apply for the financial aid .
“ We ’ re in limbo , ” he said .
“ We don ’ t know what will happen in May.
” Some of the musicians say they aren ’ t even looking that far ahead .
They wonder if they can make it through April .
Even if the stay-at-home orders are lifted soon , they wonder about how quickly the economy will recover .
How soon will people want to hire musicians ?
How soon will people feel @ @ @ @ @ @ @ — anything ?
“ It ’ s not like we ’ re going to get back to normal right away , ” Monge said .
“ People are going to be too scared to gather and people may not have money to hire us.
” Monge , who lives with his girlfriend in a small room that costs $ 700 a month , couldn ’ t pay his rent at the beginning of April .
He said they were almost out of food but he ’ d been able to pick up snack @ @ @ @ @ @ @ giveaway .
Three plastic bags filled with cartons of chocolate milk , apples , carrots and bread sat behind the driver ’ s seat .
His landlord , Monge said , told him that the rent would not be collected until he finds steady work .
It is a welcome reprieve , but it hasn ’ t stopped his debts from ballooning .
By the end of next month , he said he would owe two months of rent as well as his monthly car payment and insurance .
In all , he @ @ @ @ @ @ @ is indoors .
Everything is almost closed , ” he said .
“ There ’ s nothing we can do.
” A few weeks back , Monge was driving cars from one dealership to another on a part-time basis .
But he lost that job when the pandemic hit .
“ I can sweep and drive , ” he said .
“ I ’ ll take any job right now , but I can ’ t do construction .
When I was younger I could , but not now.
” Monge said the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of “ Que suerte la mía , ” or “ Such My Luck , ” a mariachi song that is infused with sadness .
He started to sing with his soft , raspy voice .
Just my luck , to suffer once more after having suffered What sad agony , to fall once more after having fallen before Just my luck , to lose once more after having lost before Back at the shuttle that same Wednesday afternoon , Zamora sat in the driver ’ s seat , practicing his trumpet while half @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
He ’ d purchased the chicken the day before and had a neighbor warm it up .
Zamora was 17 when he came from Mexico to the United States to work as a mariachi .
He traveled to Chicago , New York , Detroit and eventually settled in Los Angeles at the age of 30 .
He usually made enough money as a mariachi to cover his essential expenses and would send anything extra to his wife and four children in Mexico .
“ I gave everything to my kids , ” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” In 2011 , his wife , who suffered from diabetic kidney disease , died .
One of his daughters died soon after .
Despite the hard times , Zamora said he was able to keep working .
Until now .
For the first time in his life , he is worried about surviving .
He ’ s not sure he will be able to keep renting the shuttle bus from a neighbor and fears he may end up homeless .
He figured he could maybe visit his children in Los Angeles and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ but their apartments are already overcrowded .
Around 7 p.m. , as storm clouds passed over the city , two other mariachis joined Zamora in the shuttle .
Arturo Ramos , 51 , took over the driver ’ s seat .
A year ago , he started to try and save money so he could return to his home in Michoacan , Mexico , to visit his mother , who is ill .
But his green card will expire in November and the pandemic has made travel planning difficult .
Ramos decided that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ He couldn ’ t risk losing his residency .
Until recently , Ramos , a trumpeter , had worked seasonal jobs as a mariachi and a grape picker in Napa Valley .
But he hasn ’ t been able to find work throughout the state for weeks .
His landlord said he could start paying his $ 400 monthly rent when he gets steady work again .
But Ramos fears he will never recover from the dark hole in which he and so many others sit .
“ I ’ m going to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ”

Pedro Zamora grabbed his silver trumpet and began to play a song inside his new home — an airport shuttle bus.
There had been no work for more than a month, and the 68-year-old mariachi musician could not pay the $650 it costs to rent his room in Boyle Heights. Despite an eviction ban, Zamora said, his landlord demanded the money, so he borrowed $250 from his son and moved into the black “Auto Airport Parking” shuttle stationed outside of Mariachi Plaza.
Like many mariachis across the United States, Zamora had been living off the cadences of life. Mariachis play love songs at wedding receptions, songs about Mexico at festivals and dance halls; they sing birthday songs at parties and morning serenades on Mother’s Day. They subsist on joy, but they also experience sadness, upon occasion, as they witness the last goodbyes at funerals.
Then came the novel coronavirus, which choked off almost every source of revenue for the musicians who have been plying their trade, from L.A. to Texas and beyond. Stress came in waves. A medical condition made Zamora grind his teeth, conjuring a groaning sound like that of a tree bending on a windy day.
“I only have a dollar in my pocket,” Zamora said. “I don’t know how I am going to survive this.”
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Part of the gig
For nearly a century, mariachis hoping to be hired have made the plaza their home. Economic struggles, like sad songs, were part of the gig. Even in the best of times, a job was never guaranteed.
In recent years, higher rents and the specter of gentrification have always loomed as both physical and existential threats. Some mariachis lost their housing during the renovation of the Boyle Hotel, a historic brick building that sits across the plaza.
Santos Monge, 58, tunes his vihuela (a small guitar) as he awaits work as a musician at Mariachi Plaza in Los Angeles. (Marcus Yam / Los Angeles Times)
The Great Recession of 2008 hit them hard. So did construction at the Metro light rail station where the plaza lies.
It’s not an easy life but mariachis have persevered because of their love for their music — and what they represent. They are a symbol of Mexican identity and pride and many of their ballads celebrate the struggles, joys and growth of the Mexican people. Others speak of loves won and lost.
But whether the mariachis are singing about heartache or the motherland, jubilance often follows in their wake. Performances that start table-side can take over an entire restaurant or party.
The diversity of everyday events where mariachis are hired to play is expansive. In the landscape of musicians in America, perhaps only brass bands in places such as New Orleans follow a similar path, hired for weddings, funerals, birthday parties and backyard celebrations.
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But the coronavirus outbreak has shut down most of these events. The risk is too high for guests and for the musicians, who are often older and may have underlying health conditions that make them more vulnerable.
On a recent Wednesday afternoon, next to the plaza, near Boyle Avenue and First Street, Santos Monge, 58, sat in his car watching a Spanish movie on his cellphone. A green bottle filled with rubbing alcohol lay on the passenger seat. Sometimes, when he is out of the car, he walks around with it, spraying himself as if it was cologne.
These days Monge, who suffers from diabetes and plays the vihuela, or a small guitar, doesn’t want to think much about the future.
Column One A showcase for compelling storytelling from the Los Angeles Times. More stories
“I get anxious. I start to feel depressed,” he said. “I don’t want to think about what may happen. I’ll spiral and get mentally ill just thinking, ‘What if I get sick, what if my children get sick, or my grandchildren.’ And if I get sick with the coronavirus, I’m in real trouble.”
Arturo Ramirez, president of the Los Angeles United Mariachis Organization, said that before the coronavirus outbreak, mariachis at the plaza would typically get up to four gigs a week, making anywhere from $300 to $400. But it’s been several weeks since some of the musicians last worked.
When they are able to find work, Ramirez said the mariachis are having to adjust to social distancing, standing several feet apart from one another when they perform. The last time he was hired, Ramirez said, his band had to stand 15 feet away from a home as they sang “Las Mañanitas,” a traditional birthday song, to a woman.
“Even though we know there’s not much work, we have to keep hopeful that someone will hire us,” Ramirez said. “An hour or two is enough to provide us with some relief for at least a day or so.”
As a group, he says the musicians were not financially prepared for the downturn caused by the pandemic. Now the bills are piling up, food is running out and there is little reason to think the future will be anything but grim. Ramirez said that about 10 mariachis who travel from Mexico to Boyle Heights to find seasonal work, from March through June, decided to go home.
“There is nothing out there,” Ramirez said. “Absolutely nothing. Zero.”
All he can do is hope that he and the others will do better about putting money aside — if they survive an economy tipping into recession.
“Frankly, it’s a discussion that needs to be had.”
Many of the mariachis say they don’t know if they are eligible for unemployment or a stimulus check. They work irregular hours, and some of them don’t have legal status in the country. Ramirez said things have become so dire that he wrote L.A. Mayor Eric Garcetti and asked for help. A few days later, Gavin Newsom announced a $125-million relief effort for immigrants without legal status, but it’s unclear which organization will help the mariachis apply for the financial aid.
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“We’re in limbo,” he said. “We don’t know what will happen in May.”
Santos Monge serenades amid an empty space with his vihuela (a small guitar) as he awaits work as a musician at Mariachi Plaza in Los Angeles. (Marcus Yam / Los Angeles Times)
Some of the musicians say they aren’t even looking that far ahead. They wonder if they can make it through April.
Even if the stay-at-home orders are lifted soon, they wonder about how quickly the economy will recover. How soon will people want to hire musicians? How soon will people feel both safe and want to celebrate something — anything?
“It’s not like we’re going to get back to normal right away,” Monge said. “People are going to be too scared to gather and people may not have money to hire us.”
Monge, who lives with his girlfriend in a small room that costs $700 a month, couldn’t pay his rent at the beginning of April. He said they were almost out of food but he’d been able to pick up snack packs and other items in a food giveaway. Three plastic bags filled with cartons of chocolate milk, apples, carrots and bread sat behind the driver’s seat.
His landlord, Monge said, told him that the rent would not be collected until he finds steady work. It is a welcome reprieve, but it hasn’t stopped his debts from ballooning. By the end of next month, he said he would owe two months of rent as well as his monthly car payment and insurance. In all, he will owe $2,600.
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Musicians sit in silence, appropriately spaced apart, as they wait for work at Mariachi Plaza in Los Angeles. (Marcus Yam / Los Angeles Times)
“Everybody is indoors. Everything is almost closed,” he said. “There’s nothing we can do.”
A few weeks back, Monge was driving cars from one dealership to another on a part-time basis. But he lost that job when the pandemic hit.
“I can sweep and drive,” he said. “I’ll take any job right now, but I can’t do construction. When I was younger I could, but not now.”
Monge said the days of doing nothing make him think of “Que suerte la mía,” or “Such My Luck,” a mariachi song that is infused with sadness. He started to sing with his soft, raspy voice.
Just my luck, to suffer once more after having suffered
What sad agony, to fall once more after having fallen before
Just my luck, to lose once more after having lost before
The itinerant worker
Back at the shuttle that same Wednesday afternoon, Zamora sat in the driver’s seat, practicing his trumpet while half a chicken sat on a cup holder. He’d purchased the chicken the day before and had a neighbor warm it up.
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Zamora was 17 when he came from Mexico to the United States to work as a mariachi.
He traveled to Chicago, New York, Detroit and eventually settled in Los Angeles at the age of 30. He usually made enough money as a mariachi to cover his essential expenses and would send anything extra to his wife and four children in Mexico.
“I gave everything to my kids,” he said. “I kept nothing.”
In 2011, his wife, who suffered from diabetic kidney disease, died. One of his daughters died soon after. Despite the hard times, Zamora said he was able to keep working. Until now.
For the first time in his life, he is worried about surviving. He’s not sure he will be able to keep renting the shuttle bus from a neighbor and fears he may end up homeless. He figured he could maybe visit his children in Los Angeles and spend a few days with them, but their apartments are already overcrowded.
Around 7 p.m., as storm clouds passed over the city, two other mariachis joined Zamora in the shuttle.
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Arturo Ramos, 51, took over the driver’s seat. A year ago, he started to try and save money so he could return to his home in Michoacan, Mexico, to visit his mother, who is ill. But his green card will expire in November and the pandemic has made travel planning difficult. Ramos decided that he wasn’t going anywhere. He couldn’t risk losing his residency.
Pedro Zamora practices on his trumpet inside an airport shuttle bus that he began living out of three days prior after he couldn’t pay his $650 monthly rent at Mariachi Plaza in Los Angeles. (Marcus Yam / Los Angeles Times)
Until recently, Ramos, a trumpeter, had worked seasonal jobs as a mariachi and a grape picker in Napa Valley. But he hasn’t been able to find work throughout the state for weeks.
His landlord said he could start paying his $400 monthly rent when he gets steady work again. But Ramos fears he will never recover from the dark hole in which he and so many others sit.
“I’m going to be stuck in a bad cycle.”


latimes--2020-04-17--A family was told they couldn't be at their parents' burial. Then Fresno County changed its mind

The six siblings stood around the closed caskets at Fresno Memorial Gardens , standing six feet apart with flowers in hand as a priest gave his blessings to their parents .
On the cemetery road were 10 cars , parked with their windows open , passengers peeking out to watch .
It wasn ’ t how this family imagined saying their final goodbyes to their parents , 82-year-old Antonia Gordillo and 85-year-old Agustin Gordillo , who both died in early April from COVID-19 .
But it was much more than they were initially promised , said daughter Aida Alvarez .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ gatherings would be allowed , the family pushed back .
Within a day , Fresno County changed course and allowed the family to be present at the burial Wednesday .
“ They wanted to just film it and send it to us , and we were not OK with that , ” Alvarez said .
“ I basically told them that we wanted at least 10 minutes of time with them and for us to be able to be allowed to give them a proper Catholic burial.
” The family ’ s experience @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to follow on burials , counties continue to make difficult decisions on the fly .
Across the country , funeral directors are refusing to hold funeral services in chapels or are limiting services to small graveside burials with no more than 10 people present .
Others are broadcasting video streams of ceremonies for their loved ones , or recording burials for families .
The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention has recommended livestreaming funerals and limiting physical attendance to immediate family members .
Alvarez said after her parents were transferred to a funeral @ @ @ @ @ @ @ burial was scheduled for April 15 .
At the direction of county health officials , the family was not invited and instead was offered a recording .
Determined for something more , Alvarez got in touch with local officials , including Fresno County Supervisor Brian Pacheco .
Pacheco was notified of the family ’ s concerns Monday evening and presented their case during a Tuesday board meeting , with health officials present .
“ Every day we each run a risk by leaving our homes , but we have to go to the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , ” Pacheco said .
“ In my opinion , having closure to bury your parents is one of those essential things we should be able to do.
” On that premise , the supervisors came to an agreement that 10 direct family members would be allowed near the casket and would need to stand six feet apart and wear masks .
In addition , 10 cars were allowed into the cemetery , but passengers could not leave the vehicles .
That wasn ’ t ideal , Alvarez said , but it was @ @ @ @ @ @ @ could have easily said , ‘ It is what it is .
Sorry , there ’ s nothing we can do.
’ ” Fresno County health officials were initially adamant about not allowing any services at funeral homes or cemeteries , partly because of concerns that these services were spreading the virus in other parts of the country , Pacheco said .
In this family ’ s case , most of the Gordillos ’ children had already tested positive for the virus after caring for them , and were quarantined with their families @ @ @ @ @ @ @ just seven deaths and 295 positive cases , a lower rate than other counties of a similar size .
Pacheco said that , because there were no clear guidelines , the Fresno County Health Department had been leaning toward banning all funerals until stay-at-home orders were lifted .
“ That ’ s the easy decision .
But it ’ s not the compassionate thing to do , ” Pacheco said .
However , if any family were to break the guidelines , the county would revert to a blanket ban .
So far @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
On Wednesday , the funeral went smoothly .
The priest , a family friend , stood well over six feet from the casket and family members as he spoke kind words about the Gordillos .
Cemetery employees also kept their distance , and a sheriff ’ s deputy standing by outside was not needed , Pacheco said .
Two siblings stood particularly far away from their parents ’ caskets because they hadn ’ t tested positive for the virus as the others had .
When the priest concluded the ceremony , each @ @ @ @ @ @ @ caskets before leaving their flowers and saying goodbye .

The six siblings stood around the closed caskets at Fresno Memorial Gardens, standing six feet apart with flowers in hand as a priest gave his blessings to their parents.
On the cemetery road were 10 cars, parked with their windows open, passengers peeking out to watch.
It wasn’t how this family imagined saying their final goodbyes to their parents, 82-year-old Antonia Gordillo and 85-year-old Agustin Gordillo, who both died in early April from COVID-19. But it was much more than they were initially promised, said daughter Aida Alvarez.
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After being told no burial or funeral gatherings would be allowed, the family pushed back. Within a day, Fresno County changed course and allowed the family to be present at the burial Wednesday.
“They wanted to just film it and send it to us, and we were not OK with that,” Alvarez said. “I basically told them that we wanted at least 10 minutes of time with them and for us to be able to be allowed to give them a proper Catholic burial.”
The family’s experience showcases how, with no clear guidelines to follow on burials, counties continue to make difficult decisions on the fly.
Across the country, funeral directors are refusing to hold funeral services in chapels or are limiting services to small graveside burials with no more than 10 people present.
Others are broadcasting video streams of ceremonies for their loved ones, or recording burials for families. The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention has recommended livestreaming funerals and limiting physical attendance to immediate family members.
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“In my opinion, having closure to bury your parents is one of those essential things we should be able to do.” — Fresno County Supervisor Brian Pacheco
Alvarez said after her parents were transferred to a funeral home, her family was told a burial was scheduled for April 15. At the direction of county health officials, the family was not invited and instead was offered a recording.
Determined for something more, Alvarez got in touch with local officials, including Fresno County Supervisor Brian Pacheco.
Pacheco was notified of the family’s concerns Monday evening and presented their case during a Tuesday board meeting, with health officials present.
“Every day we each run a risk by leaving our homes, but we have to go to the grocery store and do these essential things,” Pacheco said. “In my opinion, having closure to bury your parents is one of those essential things we should be able to do.”
On that premise, the supervisors came to an agreement that 10 direct family members would be allowed near the casket and would need to stand six feet apart and wear masks. In addition, 10 cars were allowed into the cemetery, but passengers could not leave the vehicles.
That wasn’t ideal, Alvarez said, but it was understandable under the circumstances. “They could have easily said, ‘It is what it is. Sorry, there’s nothing we can do.’”
Fresno County health officials were initially adamant about not allowing any services at funeral homes or cemeteries, partly because of concerns that these services were spreading the virus in other parts of the country, Pacheco said. In this family’s case, most of the Gordillos’ children had already tested positive for the virus after caring for them, and were quarantined with their families.
So far, Fresno County has just seven deaths and 295 positive cases, a lower rate than other counties of a similar size.
Pacheco said that, because there were no clear guidelines, the Fresno County Health Department had been leaning toward banning all funerals until stay-at-home orders were lifted.
“That’s the easy decision. But it’s not the compassionate thing to do,” Pacheco said.
However, if any family were to break the guidelines, the county would revert to a blanket ban. So far, that has not been the case. On Wednesday, the funeral went smoothly.
The priest, a family friend, stood well over six feet from the casket and family members as he spoke kind words about the Gordillos. Cemetery employees also kept their distance, and a sheriff’s deputy standing by outside was not needed, Pacheco said.
Two siblings stood particularly far away from their parents’ caskets because they hadn’t tested positive for the virus as the others had. When the priest concluded the ceremony, each approached their parents separately, hugging the caskets before leaving their flowers and saying goodbye.


latimes--2020-04-17--California coronavirus unemployment surges as payrolls shrink for first time since 2010

California ’ s unemployment rate shot up in March as a statewide coronavirus shutdown took effect and overall payrolls shrank for the first time in a decade , state officials reported Friday .
The March report showed a jobless rate of 5.3 % , up from 3.9 % in February , the largest jump in more than four decades of state data collection .
But the rate is based on a survey that ended March 12 , so it doesn ’ t reflect the positions axed by thousands of employers in the second half of the month .
Through the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ state lost 99,500 jobs .
That ends a record 120-month streak of gains since the Great Recession .
Both the U.S. jobless rate , which was 4.4 % in March , and California ’ s rate have skyrocketed in recent weeks , according to economists who predict the state ’ s unemployment rate this year could climb to more than 16 % and perhaps as high as 20 % .
“ California employment is in free fall and no bottom is yet in sight , ” said Sung Won Sohn , a Loyola @ @ @ @ @ @ @ won ’ t recover sharply even when the lockdown ends.
” The grim news came the day after federal officials reported that 660,966 Californians had filed jobless claims in the week that ended April 11 .
Over four weeks , 2.7 million claims were processed statewide , amounting to 1 of every 7 workers in the state ’ s 19.3-million-person labor force .
Nationwide , some 22 million people have sought unemployment benefits in the last month , the largest number on record .
In the Great Recession , employment declined by 8.6 @ @ @ @ @ @ @ 2009 .
The number of California jobs lost in March was the fourth-largest on record , driven by declines in six of 11 industry sectors .
The leisure and hospitality sector shrank the most — losing 67,200 positions — largely because of closures of hotels , restaurants , food services and bars .
“ This is just the tip of the iceberg of what we are likely to see when the April California employment report is released , ” said Scott Anderson , chief economist of the Bank of the West in San @ @ @ @ @ @ @ economy will be spared before the job losses will be over.
” The state ’ s “ other services ” sector , which covers a mixture of businesses such as auto repair and dry cleaning , lost 15,500 positions .
The construction sector shrank by 11,600 .
The professional and business services sector , which includes some technology jobs , dropped by 8,600 positions .
The manufacturing sector lost 5,300 .
The trade , transportation and utilities sector shrank by 4,600 .
Retail trade was flat over the month .
Amazon , Walmart @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of workers in recent weeks as shoppers order goods online and crowd into markets to stock up on food .
Those jobs are offset by furloughs at Macy ’ s , Kohl ’ s and other large department stores as well as thousands of smaller clothing stores and other nonessential-goods outlets .
The government sector posted the largest job gain of the month : 5,200 positions , mostly caused by a rise in local government employment .
Federal government also grew , boosted by the hiring of U.S. census takers .
The financial @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and the information sector , which includes some software jobs , gained 2,600 .
Payrolls in the education and health services sector grew by 1,200 .
Mining and logging gained 300 positions .
California employers with more than 75 workers must report plant closures and mass layoffs to the California Employment Development Department under the Worker Adjustment and Retraining Notification , or WARN , law .
In the past , the agency issued two monthly reports , but so many companies have been laying off workers that the list is now updated daily @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
In February , just 64 companies reported layoffs , totaling 7,164 workers .
In March , 354 companies reported staff cuts , totaling 52,959 .
And in the first half of April , 1,377 employers reported shedding a combined 154,269 workers .
Thousands were laid off at hotels , restaurants and entertainment venues , but pain has been felt across a wide variety of businesses .
Among the largest layoffs were 3,029 at Pacific Dental Services , an Irvine-based chain ; 2,250 at San Diego ’ s Sea World ; 1,671 at @ @ @ @ @ @ @ at LAZ Parking in Los Angeles ; 1,900 at Hawaiian Gardens Casino and 893 at San Diego-based Core Power Yoga .
And the WARN report is far from complete .
Not only does it not include layoffs at smaller companies , it also counts only workers who were employed for at least six of the 12 months before the layoffs .
And last month , Gov .
Gavin Newsom suspended the law ’ s provision that employers give workers and the agency 60 days ’ notice , so many companies have yet to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , the jobless rate jumped to 6.3 % in March from 4.3 % in February .
Payrolls in the county , which total about 4.6 million jobs , shed 35,200 .
In Orange County , unemployment grew to 3.6 % from 2.8 % .
The county , with about 1.67 million workers , lost 13,200 jobs .
In the Inland Empire , spanning Riverside and San Bernardino counties , unemployment rose to 5.1 % from 4 % .
The region , with some 1.54 million workers , lost 5,500 positions .
Unemployment claims @ @ @ @ @ @ @ when California begins accepting applications from hundreds of thousands of self-employed workers and independent contractors , noted Lynn Reaser , an economist at Point Loma Nazarene University in San Diego .
With the growth of gig economy companies such as Uber , Lyft and Instacart , that pool of workers has expanded rapidly in recent years .
Until now , gig workers have not been eligible for jobless benefits because the companies they work for do not pay state unemployment taxes .
But they ’ re explicitly included in the federal Coronavirus Aid @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , known as CARES , which offers jobless workers up to $ 600 a week .
Economists offer varying assessments as to how long a coronavirus-induced recession might last .
Anderson , at the Bank of the West , predicted , “ We will be entering a multiyear process of recovery for the California economy , even in the best-case scenario where business shutdowns end and economic activity returns in the second half of this year.
” Reaser was somewhat more optimistic .
“ The steepness and suddenness of the decline is probably @ @ @ @ @ @ @ said .
“ However , the downturn is likely to be much shorter than the Depression of the 1930s , which spanned four years , and even the Great Recession , which lasted 18 months .
The economy is not in a downward spiral with no relief in prospect.
” And Sohn suggested California ’ s eventual recovery might be faster than the overall nation ’ s “ because technology has been the workhorse of the state ’ s recent economic expansion .
During this pandemic , remote communication , online shopping , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the decline in the state ’ s employment.
” But , he cautioned , “ boosting production is easier than persuading consumers to visit restaurants and theaters .
Employees are eager to return to work after weeks of lockdown , but the psychological shock to the people and the economy should not be underestimated .
”

Myra Madrid, who worked for 10 years at Four Seasons in Beverly Hills, was among those visiting a food bank at L.A.’s Hospitality Training Academy in March.
California’s unemployment rate shot up in March as a statewide coronavirus shutdown took effect and overall payrolls shrank for the first time in a decade, state officials reported Friday.
The March report showed a jobless rate of 5.3%, up from 3.9% in February, the largest jump in more than four decades of state data collection. But the rate is based on a survey that ended March 12, so it doesn’t reflect the positions axed by thousands of employers in the second half of the month.
Through the first half of the month, the state lost 99,500 jobs. That ends a record 120-month streak of gains since the Great Recession.
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Both the U.S. jobless rate, which was 4.4% in March, and California’s rate have skyrocketed in recent weeks, according to economists who predict the state’s unemployment rate this year could climb to more than 16% and perhaps as high as 20%.
“California employment is in free fall and no bottom is yet in sight,” said Sung Won Sohn, a Loyola Marymount University economist. “Economic activities won’t recover sharply even when the lockdown ends.”
The grim news came the day after federal officials reported that 660,966 Californians had filed jobless claims in the week that ended April 11. Over four weeks, 2.7 million claims were processed statewide, amounting to 1 of every 7 workers in the state’s 19.3-million-person labor force.
Nationwide, some 22 million people have sought unemployment benefits in the last month, the largest number on record. In the Great Recession, employment declined by 8.6 million workers between November 2007 and December 2009.
The number of California jobs lost in March was the fourth-largest on record, driven by declines in six of 11 industry sectors. The leisure and hospitality sector shrank the most — losing 67,200 positions — largely because of closures of hotels, restaurants, food services and bars.
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“This is just the tip of the iceberg of what we are likely to see when the April California employment report is released,” said Scott Anderson, chief economist of the Bank of the West in San Francisco. “No sector of the economy will be spared before the job losses will be over.”
The state’s “other services” sector, which covers a mixture of businesses such as auto repair and dry cleaning, lost 15,500 positions. The construction sector shrank by 11,600.
The professional and business services sector, which includes some technology jobs, dropped by 8,600 positions. The manufacturing sector lost 5,300. The trade, transportation and utilities sector shrank by 4,600.
Retail trade was flat over the month. Amazon, Walmart and many grocery stores have hired thousands of workers in recent weeks as shoppers order goods online and crowd into markets to stock up on food. Those jobs are offset by furloughs at Macy’s, Kohl’s and other large department stores as well as thousands of smaller clothing stores and other nonessential-goods outlets.
The government sector posted the largest job gain of the month: 5,200 positions, mostly caused by a rise in local government employment. Federal government also grew, boosted by the hiring of U.S. census takers.
The financial activities sector grew by 4,000 jobs, and the information sector, which includes some software jobs, gained 2,600. Payrolls in the education and health services sector grew by 1,200. Mining and logging gained 300 positions.
California employers with more than 75 workers must report plant closures and mass layoffs to the California Employment Development Department under the Worker Adjustment and Retraining Notification, or WARN, law. In the past, the agency issued two monthly reports, but so many companies have been laying off workers that the list is now updated daily.
The numbers reveal a rapid acceleration. In February, just 64 companies reported layoffs, totaling 7,164 workers. In March, 354 companies reported staff cuts, totaling 52,959. And in the first half of April, 1,377 employers reported shedding a combined 154,269 workers.
Thousands were laid off at hotels, restaurants and entertainment venues, but pain has been felt across a wide variety of businesses. Among the largest layoffs were 3,029 at Pacific Dental Services, an Irvine-based chain; 2,250 at San Diego’s Sea World; 1,671 at YMCA of Metropolitan Los Angeles; 1,331 at LAZ Parking in Los Angeles; 1,900 at Hawaiian Gardens Casino and 893 at San Diego-based Core Power Yoga.
And the WARN report is far from complete. Not only does it not include layoffs at smaller companies, it also counts only workers who were employed for at least six of the 12 months before the layoffs. And last month, Gov. Gavin Newsom suspended the law’s provision that employers give workers and the agency 60 days’ notice, so many companies have yet to file reports.
In Los Angeles County, the jobless rate jumped to 6.3% in March from 4.3% in February. Payrolls in the county, which total about 4.6 million jobs, shed 35,200.
In Orange County, unemployment grew to 3.6% from 2.8%. The county, with about 1.67 million workers, lost 13,200 jobs.
In the Inland Empire, spanning Riverside and San Bernardino counties, unemployment rose to 5.1% from 4%. The region, with some 1.54 million workers, lost 5,500 positions.
Unemployment claims will jump at the end of April when California begins accepting applications from hundreds of thousands of self-employed workers and independent contractors, noted Lynn Reaser, an economist at Point Loma Nazarene University in San Diego. With the growth of gig economy companies such as Uber, Lyft and Instacart, that pool of workers has expanded rapidly in recent years.
Until now, gig workers have not been eligible for jobless benefits because the companies they work for do not pay state unemployment taxes. But they’re explicitly included in the federal Coronavirus Aid, Relief, and Economic Security Act, known as CARES, which offers jobless workers up to $600 a week.
Economists offer varying assessments as to how long a coronavirus-induced recession might last.
Anderson, at the Bank of the West, predicted, “We will be entering a multiyear process of recovery for the California economy, even in the best-case scenario where business shutdowns end and economic activity returns in the second half of this year.”
Reaser was somewhat more optimistic.
“The steepness and suddenness of the decline is probably unparalleled in U.S. history,” she said. “However, the downturn is likely to be much shorter than the Depression of the 1930s, which spanned four years, and even the Great Recession, which lasted 18 months. The economy is not in a downward spiral with no relief in prospect.”
And Sohn suggested California’s eventual recovery might be faster than the overall nation’s “because technology has been the workhorse of the state’s recent economic expansion. During this pandemic, remote communication, online shopping, social media and digital streaming have limited the decline in the state’s employment.”
But, he cautioned, “boosting production is easier than persuading consumers to visit restaurants and theaters. Employees are eager to return to work after weeks of lockdown, but the psychological shock to the people and the economy should not be underestimated.”


latimes--2020-04-16--Coronavirus poses added challenges for hospital patients who are deaf or hard of hearing

A nurse at Health Central Hospital in Ocoee , Fla. , activated a video screen with an internet link to connect Jennylee Bruno to an American sign language interpreter .
Minutes later , Bruno ’ s worst fear was confirmed : The shortness of breath , sense of fire in her lungs , and dry cough were a case of the coronavirus .
The doctor told Bruno , a deaf author and mother of five , that they could only help ease the pain .
Then the video feed froze , unfroze , and froze again .
Bruno sobbed from @ @ @ @ @ @ @ they were giving me a death sentence , ” she said of that day in March .
“ I wanted to ask , am I going to die , what can we do , is there a cure , what about medications , what ’ s the plan ?
” As some hospitals are overwhelmed with coronavirus cases , deaf and hard of hearing patients in California and across the country face greater barriers accessing accommodations that allow them to understand what doctors and nurses are saying .
The increased use of masks @ @ @ @ @ @ @ reading and facial expressions to communicate .
Many hospitals have restricted interpreters and visitors , and are instead offering patients video conferencing with remote interpreters , an aid that may run into technical issues .
“ The calls and emails that we have received reflect deaf and hard of hearing people being alone in hospitals without ways to communicate with the hospital doctors or staff or even to make calls to family outside of the hospital , ” wrote Howard A. Rosenblum , the CEO of the National Assn .
of the Deaf @ @ @ @ @ @ @ percent of the U.S. population identifies as either deaf or having difficulty hearing .
Under the Americans with Disabilities Act , hospitals must facilitate effective communication with services like in-person or video remote interpreting , captioning , written notes or speech-to-text apps .
Prior to the pandemic , many deaf patients complained about the use of video interpreting in emergency rooms .
The feed can be blurry or freeze , and patients may be unable to focus on a small screen in a crowded room .
Nurses may also not know how to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ have a new staff member who hasn ’ t been able to be trained to use the system , they ’ ll be overlooked , ” said Kavita Pipalia , the president of the California Assn .
for the Deaf .
“ The one who ends up suffering is the patient.
” Bruno spent almost two weeks isolated in a coronavirus ward .
The 51-year-old can read lips , but everyone around her wore a mask .
Nurses during the day wrote short notes to her on a white board .
The video @ @ @ @ @ @ @ staff gradually stopped using it , she said .
“ There ’ s a lot of people there and they have no time to wait for an interpreter , ” said Bruno .
Orlando Health — Health Central Hospital noted that all patients who require communication assistance are provided access to qualified interpreters .
“ When infection prevention protocols prohibit person to person contact , interpreters are made available to patients via phone or video remote , ” it said in a statement .
The National Assn .
of the Deaf and other @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in hospitals during the pandemic , advising patients to bring their own tools , like a printed page that says they are deaf , hard of hearing or deaf-blind , or to download video interpreting or speech-to-text smartphone apps .
Hospitals , the guidance said , should at least have white boards or yellow pads on hand .
For some deaf-blind patients , tracing alphabetic letters on palms with a finger may be an option .
In Austin , Texas , Lore Kinast , 51 , has a plan should she , her @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of whom are deaf — go to a hospital with coronavirus symptoms .
Lip reading would be impossible with masks .
Passing a paper back and forth requires close proximity .
So they would bring an iPad and type in extra-large font to communicate with staff from a safe distance .
Kinast , who works at the National Deaf Center on Postsecondary Outcomes in Austin , hopes there would be a white board for nurses to respond back but recognizes resources might be stretched .
“ Most people don ’ t know how @ @ @ @ @ @ @ good day , ” said Kinast .
“ With so much turnover with staff at facilities , it may be that they don ’ t know what to do if a deaf person arrives on scene.
” Ellen King , a severely hard of hearing 66-year-old resident of Northern California , has also given a potential hospital visit some thought .
King lip reads and uses a hearing dog at her job at a psychiatric hospital .
She might not bring her hearing aids if she were to be admitted to a hospital @ @ @ @ @ @ @ would plan to show nurses a handout with small health-related graphics , including a pain scale , that she could point to .
“ I may be considered not credible , ” she said .
“ If I am less than fully conscious and have no hearing aids , I ’ m at a very big disadvantage because I might not be able to follow instructions.
” Some patients , like Jennifer Dotson of Puyallup , Wash. , have commended efforts to find accommodations .
Dotson , 44 , spent several nights at @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Seattle in March after experiencing shortness of breath .
Dotson has severe hearing loss , so the hospital initially allowed her husband to stay with her so that he could speak in a loud voice and help her understand what was happening .
Once she was diagnosed with the virus , she said , staff limited their time in her room due to a shortage of masks .
Doctors communicated with her over FaceTime , positioning themselves close to the camera so she could watch their lips .
“ They still had to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ for me to figure out what they were saying , but this solution was the best situation to get their point across to me , ” Dotson wrote in an email .
Interpreters allowed on site face challenges too because masks hide their expressions .
Demand for masks with a transparent window has increased , according to Anne McIntosh , the president of Safe ’ N ’ Clear , a company that in recent years partnered with the manufacturer Prestige Ameritech to develop a mask of this kind .
Some interpreting agencies say @ @ @ @ @ @ @ gear .
Patricia Hughes , the CEO of Lifesigns , an interpreting agency that operates in Southern California , said that hospitals are not making protective equipment available .
Acquiring equipment for interpreters has been challenging , said Joshua Pennise , who oversees on-site and video remote sign languages interpreting for Sorenson Communications , an agency that employs more than 4,000 interpreters .
The company has told interpreters they will be reimbursed for equipment they purchase .
“ They are able to opt out no penalty on any specific assignment , ” said @ @ @ @ @ @ @ sense of responsibility outweighs worry .
When she receives an assignment , Lynne Martirano , a freelance interpreter in her early 60s in Putnam County , N.Y. , evaluates what she knows about the facility and her own health .
She recently interpreted for a pregnant deaf woman who was worried about giving birth while communicating with a remote interpreter .
“ I consider not working because of this virus every day , ” said Martirano .
“ I consider it all the time but am aware this young woman … is going @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
What if I were her going into that ?
” The same stands true for Keimi Malave , a freelance interpreter for a hospital in Manhattan .
Malave accepts assignments for patients who don ’ t have the technology for remote interpreting and can access masks , visors and gloves that are kept locked up at the hospital .
“ They ’ ve called me quite a few times to come to the hospital because other interpreters have refused to go in , ” she said .
“ Even though I don @ @ @ @ @ @ @ that position , who does ?
Somebody has to do it , and if it ’ s not me , who is it going to be ?
”

Jennylee Bruno, a deaf author and mother of five, documented her time isolated in a coronavirus ward in at Health Central Hospital in Ocoee, Florida.
A nurse at Health Central Hospital in Ocoee, Fla., activated a video screen with an internet link to connect Jennylee Bruno to an American sign language interpreter. Minutes later, Bruno’s worst fear was confirmed: The shortness of breath, sense of fire in her lungs, and dry cough were a case of the coronavirus.
The doctor told Bruno, a deaf author and mother of five, that they could only help ease the pain. Then the video feed froze, unfroze, and froze again. Bruno sobbed from her bed.
“I felt like they were giving me a death sentence,” she said of that day in March. “I wanted to ask, am I going to die, what can we do, is there a cure, what about medications, what’s the plan?”
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As some hospitals are overwhelmed with coronavirus cases, deaf and hard of hearing patients in California and across the country face greater barriers accessing accommodations that allow them to understand what doctors and nurses are saying.
The increased use of masks has hindered those who rely on lip reading and facial expressions to communicate. Many hospitals have restricted interpreters and visitors, and are instead offering patients video conferencing with remote interpreters, an aid that may run into technical issues.
“The calls and emails that we have received reflect deaf and hard of hearing people being alone in hospitals without ways to communicate with the hospital doctors or staff or even to make calls to family outside of the hospital,” wrote Howard A. Rosenblum, the CEO of the National Assn. of the Deaf, in an email.
Nearly 4 percent of the U.S. population identifies as either deaf or having difficulty hearing. Under the Americans with Disabilities Act, hospitals must facilitate effective communication with services like in-person or video remote interpreting, captioning, written notes or speech-to-text apps.
Prior to the pandemic, many deaf patients complained about the use of video interpreting in emergency rooms. The feed can be blurry or freeze, and patients may be unable to focus on a small screen in a crowded room. Nurses may also not know how to operate the equipment.
Advertisement
“When you have a new staff member who hasn’t been able to be trained to use the system, they’ll be overlooked,” said Kavita Pipalia, the president of the California Assn. for the Deaf. “The one who ends up suffering is the patient.”
Bruno spent almost two weeks isolated in a coronavirus ward. The 51-year-old can read lips, but everyone around her wore a mask.
Nurses during the day wrote short notes to her on a white board. The video interpreting feed would freeze constantly, so staff gradually stopped using it, she said.
“There’s a lot of people there and they have no time to wait for an interpreter,” said Bruno.
Orlando Health — Health Central Hospital noted that all patients who require communication assistance are provided access to qualified interpreters. “When infection prevention protocols prohibit person to person contact, interpreters are made available to patients via phone or video remote,” it said in a statement.
The National Assn. of the Deaf and other advocates have published guidelines on communication access in hospitals during the pandemic, advising patients to bring their own tools, like a printed page that says they are deaf, hard of hearing or deaf-blind, or to download video interpreting or speech-to-text smartphone apps.
Hospitals, the guidance said, should at least have white boards or yellow pads on hand. For some deaf-blind patients, tracing alphabetic letters on palms with a finger may be an option.
Lore Kinast, 51, with her husband, Patrick, 49, and daughter, Kameron, 21, all of whom are deaf. Lore plans to bring an iPad with her to try to communicate with nurses should she have to go to the hospital. (Lore Kinast)
In Austin, Texas, Lore Kinast, 51, has a plan should she, her husband or their 21-year-old daughter — all of whom are deaf — go to a hospital with coronavirus symptoms.
Lip reading would be impossible with masks. Passing a paper back and forth requires close proximity. So they would bring an iPad and type in extra-large font to communicate with staff from a safe distance.
Kinast, who works at the National Deaf Center on Postsecondary Outcomes in Austin, hopes there would be a white board for nurses to respond back but recognizes resources might be stretched.
“Most people don’t know how to deal with deaf people on a good day,” said Kinast. “With so much turnover with staff at facilities, it may be that they don’t know what to do if a deaf person arrives on scene.”
Ellen King, a severely hard of hearing 66-year-old resident of Northern California, has also given a potential hospital visit some thought. King lip reads and uses a hearing dog at her job at a psychiatric hospital. She might not bring her hearing aids if she were to be admitted to a hospital for fear of losing them.
King would plan to show nurses a handout with small health-related graphics, including a pain scale, that she could point to.
“I may be considered not credible,” she said. “If I am less than fully conscious and have no hearing aids, I’m at a very big disadvantage because I might not be able to follow instructions.”
Some patients, like Jennifer Dotson of Puyallup, Wash., have commended efforts to find accommodations. Dotson, 44, spent several nights at the University of Washington Medical Center in Seattle in March after experiencing shortness of breath.
Dotson has severe hearing loss, so the hospital initially allowed her husband to stay with her so that he could speak in a loud voice and help her understand what was happening.
Once she was diagnosed with the virus, she said, staff limited their time in her room due to a shortage of masks. Doctors communicated with her over FaceTime, positioning themselves close to the camera so she could watch their lips.
“They still had to really simplify their words/information they were sharing for me to figure out what they were saying, but this solution was the best situation to get their point across to me,” Dotson wrote in an email.
Anne McIntosh, president of Safe’N’Clear, wears the Communicator, an FDA-approved mask with a transparent window. (Anne McIntosh)
Interpreters allowed on site face challenges too because masks hide their expressions. Demand for masks with a transparent window has increased, according to Anne McIntosh, the president of Safe’N’Clear, a company that in recent years partnered with the manufacturer Prestige Ameritech to develop a mask of this kind.
Some interpreting agencies say that interpreters must supply their own protective gear. Patricia Hughes, the CEO of Lifesigns, an interpreting agency that operates in Southern California, said that hospitals are not making protective equipment available.
Acquiring equipment for interpreters has been challenging, said Joshua Pennise, who oversees on-site and video remote sign languages interpreting for Sorenson Communications, an agency that employs more than 4,000 interpreters. The company has told interpreters they will be reimbursed for equipment they purchase.
“They are able to opt out no penalty on any specific assignment,” said Pennise.
But for some, a sense of responsibility outweighs worry.
When she receives an assignment, Lynne Martirano, a freelance interpreter in her early 60s in Putnam County, N.Y., evaluates what she knows about the facility and her own health.
‘I may be considered not credible. If I am less than fully conscious and have no hearing aids, I’m at a very big disadvantage because I might not be able to follow instructions.’ — Ellen King, Northern California resident
She recently interpreted for a pregnant deaf woman who was worried about giving birth while communicating with a remote interpreter.
“I consider not working because of this virus every day,” said Martirano. “I consider it all the time but am aware this young woman … is going to go into labor at some point. What if I were her going into that?”
The same stands true for Keimi Malave, a freelance interpreter for a hospital in Manhattan. Malave accepts assignments for patients who don’t have the technology for remote interpreting and can access masks, visors and gloves that are kept locked up at the hospital.
“They’ve called me quite a few times to come to the hospital because other interpreters have refused to go in,” she said. “Even though I don’t want to put myself in that position, who does? Somebody has to do it, and if it’s not me, who is it going to be?”


latimes--2020-04-19--UC dropped the SAT and ACT amid coronavirus. Here's why some want them back next year

The University of California suspended SAT and ACT testing requirements for admission next fall amid the coronavirus pandemic — but many faculty members want them back for at least the next five years .
In a letter sent Saturday to UC President Janet Napolitano , the Academic Senate chair reported unanimous backing from the faculty assembly to keep the controversial tests as an admission requirement , approving a recommendation by a task force this year .
The assembly , made up of faculty leadership and campus representatives , endorsed the report 51-0 , with one abstention — an overwhelming show @ @ @ @ @ @ @ with testing critics next month , when the UC Board of Regents will take up the issue .
The assembly also endorsed the elimination of the SAT essay and ACT writing test as a requirement for UC undergraduate admissions .
The UC system lifted the standardized testing requirement for fall 2021 applicants due to test cancellations amid the pandemic .
But that is likely to be a temporary pause , with test scores probably expected for fall 2022 applicants .
The ACT still plans to offer a June test , and the College @ @ @ @ @ @ @ hopes to restart tests in August and will do so by fall at the latest , using a digital , at-home exam if needed .
Academic Senate Chair Kum-Kum Bhavnani said faculty members were persuaded , if surprised , by the task force ’ s findings that the SAT test actually helps disadvantaged students gain entry to the selective UC system .
Extensive research has shown that SAT and ACT scores are heavily influenced by race , income and parents ’ education level , driving legal challenges to the tests ’ use in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ optional at more than 1,000 colleges and universities .
The task force concluded , however , that the way UC uses standardized test scores substantially corrects for that bias by weighting them less heavily than grades and considering them as only one of 14 factors in a comprehensive review process .
Campuses adjust for socioeconomic differences and admit disadvantaged students with lower test scores compared to more advantaged peers , the review found .
“ We know there ’ s a lot of hesitation about the use of standardized tests , ” Bhavnani @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to understand is that the way that the UC uses these tests protects disadvantaged students and allows for a more diverse student population.
” Some UC researchers , however , have challenged those findings and argued that they were based on methodological errors .
In a new recommendation , Assembly members voted to revisit the testing issue in five years .
They also agreed that tests should not be made optional or replaced by the state assessment used for K-12 schools .
In separate comments , faculty bodies at nine of UC ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ tests .
UC Irvine could reach no consensus .
UC Merced — whose student body has the system ’ s largest proportion of low-income , first-generation and underrepresented minority students — said more privileged students could end up benefiting if tests were dropped and high school grades were more heavily weighted .
That ’ s because students can boost their GPA with extra points from Advanced Placement courses , which are more readily available at affluent schools , said the campus diversity and equity committee .
In her letter to Napolitano , Bhavnani @ @ @ @ @ @ @ that test scores were not the primary reason for the underrepresentation of disadvantaged students at UC campuses .
Larger factors , she said , included fewer applicants and lower completion of required college preparatory courses .
She said the faculty supports increasing access to more students but also adding academic support , which would require more funding .
Napolitano will use the faculty input to develop her own recommendation to the regents , who are expected to vote on the issue next month .

The University of California is reviewing whether to eliminate the SAT and ACT testing requirements for admission.
The University of California suspended SAT and ACT testing requirements for admission next fall amid the coronavirus pandemic — but many faculty members want them back for at least the next five years.
In a letter sent Saturday to UC President Janet Napolitano, the Academic Senate chair reported unanimous backing from the faculty assembly to keep the controversial tests as an admission requirement, approving a recommendation by a task force this year.
The assembly, made up of faculty leadership and campus representatives, endorsed the report 51-0, with one abstention — an overwhelming show of support that sets up a showdown with testing critics next month, when the UC Board of Regents will take up the issue.
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The assembly also endorsed the elimination of the SAT essay and ACT writing test as a requirement for UC undergraduate admissions.
The UC system lifted the standardized testing requirement for fall 2021 applicants due to test cancellations amid the pandemic. But that is likely to be a temporary pause, with test scores probably expected for fall 2022 applicants. The ACT still plans to offer a June test, and the College Board, which owns the SAT, hopes to restart tests in August and will do so by fall at the latest, using a digital, at-home exam if needed.
Academic Senate Chair Kum-Kum Bhavnani said faculty members were persuaded, if surprised, by the task force’s findings that the SAT test actually helps disadvantaged students gain entry to the selective UC system. Extensive research has shown that SAT and ACT scores are heavily influenced by race, income and parents’ education level, driving legal challenges to the tests’ use in UC admissions and decisions to make them optional at more than 1,000 colleges and universities.
The task force concluded, however, that the way UC uses standardized test scores substantially corrects for that bias by weighting them less heavily than grades and considering them as only one of 14 factors in a comprehensive review process. Campuses adjust for socioeconomic differences and admit disadvantaged students with lower test scores compared to more advantaged peers, the review found.
“We know there’s a lot of hesitation about the use of standardized tests,” Bhavnani said. “What I want people to understand is that the way that the UC uses these tests protects disadvantaged students and allows for a more diverse student population.”
Some UC researchers, however, have challenged those findings and argued that they were based on methodological errors.
In a new recommendation, Assembly members voted to revisit the testing issue in five years. They also agreed that tests should not be made optional or replaced by the state assessment used for K-12 schools.
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In separate comments, faculty bodies at nine of UC’s 10 campuses also supported retaining the tests. UC Irvine could reach no consensus.
UC Merced — whose student body has the system’s largest proportion of low-income, first-generation and underrepresented minority students — said more privileged students could end up benefiting if tests were dropped and high school grades were more heavily weighted. That’s because students can boost their GPA with extra points from Advanced Placement courses, which are more readily available at affluent schools, said the campus diversity and equity committee.
In her letter to Napolitano, Bhavnani said assembly members were persuaded by evidence that test scores were not the primary reason for the underrepresentation of disadvantaged students at UC campuses. Larger factors, she said, included fewer applicants and lower completion of required college preparatory courses.
She said the faculty supports increasing access to more students but also adding academic support, which would require more funding.
Napolitano will use the faculty input to develop her own recommendation to the regents, who are expected to vote on the issue next month.