http://www.bloomberg.com/opinion/articles/2020-12-30/los-angeles-locked-down-covid-came-anyway
Los Angeles Locked Down. Covid Came Anyway.
The city’s crisis contradicts the simple narrative that outbreaks are
punishment for red-state recklessness.
By Virginia Postrel
December 30, 2020, 8:00 AM PST
Nine months on.
Nine months on. Photographer: BRENDAN LOTT/”Safer at Home”
Virginia Postrel is a Bloomberg Opinion columnist. She was the editor of
Reason magazine and a columnist for the Wall Street Journal, the
Atlantic, the New York Times and Forbes. Her books include “The Power of
Glamour.”
Read more opinion
Follow @vpostrel on Twitter
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My neighbors’ children haven’t seen the inside of a classroom since
spring. The book I checked out from the UCLA library to research this
March column is still in my bedroom, gathering dust. Not even the
drop-off return box is open. We haven’t eaten inside a restaurant or
entered a museum, library or theater since March. They’re all shut down.
This isn’t New York, with its delightfully uncrowded museums.
Los Angeles has endured nine months of a shutdown more extreme than most
of the country’s — or the world’s. In the beginning, the city even
closed the parks. You still can’t enter the Venice Beach boardwalk
except to pick up takeout food. No walks, bike rides or fishing on the pier.
One of the few positive side effects of the pandemic was the spread of
outdoor dining. L.A.’s climate is ideal for it, but the city normally
makes it a permitting nightmare. Covid changed that — temporarily. Now,
despite legal challenges, sidewalks and patios are again bereft of
tables. Only takeout is allowed.
As Covid patients overwhelm local hospitals, filling intensive care
units and consuming so much oxygen that hospitals warn of shortages —
oxygen shortages! — my home contradicts the simple narrative that
coronavirus outbreaks are righteous punishment for red state disregard.
You can adopt every stricture, follow every rule, and still wind up with
a crisis. The virus is relentless — and still more mysterious than we
like to admit. The lockdown is wearisome. For those whose livelihoods
are now illegal, it’s a crisis in itself.
Although hair and nail salons did reopen for business in September,
they’re again closed. Like many customers, my husband and I stayed away
even during the brief reopening. We figured it couldn’t last. So my
thumb sports a continual bandage, covering the permanently split nail
formerly held together by a manicurist’s acrylic workmanship. My hair is
the longest it has been since college, and my husband now sports a tiny
ponytail. It keeps his hair looking normal on Zoom.
relates to Los Angeles Locked Down. Covid Came Anyway.
A day in downtown L.A.Photographer: BRENDAN LOTT/”Safer at Home”
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Undriven for nine months, his car has a dead battery and cobwebs on it.
No more 50-mile commutes a couple of times a week to teach and see
colleagues at UC Irvine. Instead, he has a multiscreen setup in the home
office. His MBA students, weary from jobs filled with Zoom meetings,
aren’t fully engaged. Some don’t even turn on their cameras.
My car, on the other hand, does get out, and not just to keep us
supplied with food and toilet paper. Taking advantage of the
Covid-induced reduction in L.A.’s infamous traffic, I’ve gone exploring,
looking for backdrops to introduce videos inspired by my most recent
book: a “Cannabis Before Prohibition” mural in Hollywood, a Uyghur
restaurant in Alhambra, a cactus sculpture in West Hollywood.
It reminds me of my early years here, in the late 1980s, when the city
was a new and wonderful place to get to know, and driving, rather than
walking, was my primary form of transportation. Except for placing an
order at that Uyghur restaurant, however, I don’t talk to anyone. This
is 2020, and “social distance” is the rule.
From March to September, we paid the couple who cleans our house every
four weeks to stay home. She went back to Guatemala, returning in the
fall. In July, the virus swept through the household, probably brought
home by one of the several young adult sons who share the two-bedroom
apartment. No one was hospitalized, but it was a scare, and typical of
the pandemic’s Los Angeles progress.
Latinos, who often live in crowded, multigenerational households and
work in retail, health care, construction and other essential jobs, have
been hit hard. The city’s map of Covid cases per 100,000 residents by
neighborhood tells the story: Richer neighborhoods have lower caseloads,
poorer ones, with more people packed in each household, have higher
ones. Our West L.A. neighborhood falls in the middle.
Our pandemic experience hasn’t been that bad. My husband and I get along
and like being together. With jobs we can do online and no kids to
homeschool, we have it easy. Our three-bedroom condo gives us separate
workspaces and room to spread out. I’ve turned our kitchen table into my
own Zoom studio, complete with backdrop and lights for a 2020 book tour.
I’d love to eat in a restaurant or travel cross country, but those are
minor sacrifices compared with what many people are experiencing, even
without getting sick.
Brendan Lott, an artist who lives in downtown L.A., evokes the
melancholy and isolation of the pandemic in a series of photographs
titled “Safer at Home,” the official name of the city’s restrictions.
Shooting from his high-rise apartment’s windows, he captures unknown
neighbors as they work, smoke, exercise and check their phones, using
the buildings’ architecture to obscure identities and heighten the
claustrophobia. Evocative on Instagram, at gallery size the photos are
haunting and painterly.
Affluent and young, Lott’s subjects are hardly the pandemic’s greatest
victims. But that thought makes the images even sadder.