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Tag: last Friday

  • Northern California principal on leave after dancing with school mascot to Ginuwine’s ‘Pony’

    Northern California principal on leave after dancing with school mascot to Ginuwine’s ‘Pony’

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    Some ruckus is always expected at a high school rally but instead of it coming from students this time, it was the actions of an administrator that has landed them in hot water.

    Principal Robert Nunes from Buhach Colony High School in Atwater has been put on administrative leave after dancing with the school’s mascot “Thor” at last Friday’s rally, according to media reports.

    Video of the incident posted on social media shows Nunes in an office chair in the school’s gymnasium while the school mascot dances near him and Ginuwine’s “Pony” plays in the background.

    The mascot then sits down in the chair and Nunes slides his hands down the mascot’s chest.

    “What happens at Buhach stays at Buhach,” Nunes told the crowd of cheering students.

    In a statement obtained by YourCentral Valley, the Merced Union High School District says it will be “conducting a comprehensive review of the situation.”

    Nunes won’t be participating in any school-related activities or responsibilities during the investigation, school officials said. Executive Director Torrin Johnson and Associate Principal David Rogers will be acting principals of Buhach Colony High School in the meantime.

    The Merced Union High School District didn’t immediately respond to a request for comment.

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    Summer Lin

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  • The Pandemic’s ‘Ghost Architecture’ Is Still Haunting Us

    The Pandemic’s ‘Ghost Architecture’ Is Still Haunting Us

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    Last Friday, in a bathroom at the Newark airport, I encountered a phrase I hadn’t seen in a long time: Stop the spread. It accompanied an automatic hand-sanitizing station, which groaned weakly when I passed my hand beneath it, dispensing nothing. Presumably set up in the early pandemic, the sign and dispenser had long ago become relics. Basically everyone seemed to ignore them. Elsewhere in the terminal, I spotted prompts to maintain a safe distance and reduce overcrowding, while maskless passengers sat elbow-to-elbow in waiting areas and mobbed the gates.

    Beginning in 2020, COVID signage and equipment were everywhere. Stickers indicated how to stand six feet apart. Arrows on the grocery-store floor directed shopping-cart traffic. Plastic barriers enforced distancing. Masks required signs dotted store windows, before they were eventually replaced by softer pronouncements such as masks recommended and masks welcome. Such messages—some more helpful than others—became an unavoidable part of navigating pandemic life.

    Four years later, the coronavirus has not disappeared—but the health measures are gone, and so is most daily concern about the pandemic. Yet much of this COVID signage remains, impossible to miss even if the messages are ignored or outdated. In New York, where I live, notices linger in the doorways of apartment buildings and stores. A colleague in Woburn, Massachusetts, sent me a photo of a sign reminding park-goers to gather in groups of 10 or less; another, in Washington, D.C., showed me stickers on the floors of a bookstore and pier bearing faded reminders to stay six feet apart. “These are artifacts from another moment that none of us want to return to,” Eric Klinenberg, a sociologist at NYU and the author of 2020: One City, Seven People, and the Year Everything Changed, told me. All these fliers, signs, and stickers make up the “ghost architecture” of the pandemic, and they are still haunting America today.

    That some COVID signage persists makes sense, considering how much of it once existed. According to the COVID-19 Signage Archive, one store in Key West had a reminder to mask up during the initial Omicron wave: Do not wear it above chin or below nose. In the summer of 2021, a placard at a Houston grocery store indicated that the shopping carts had been “sanitizd.” And in November 2020, you could have stepped on a customized welcome mat in Washington, D.C., that read Thank you for practicing 6 ft social distancing. Eli Fessler, a software engineer who launched the crowdsourced archive in December 2020, wanted “to preserve some aspect of [COVID signage] because it felt so ephemeral,” he told me. The gallery now comprises nearly 4,000 photos of signs around the world, including submissions he received as recently as this past October: a keep safe distance sign in Incheon, South Korea.

    No doubt certain instances of ghost architecture can be attributed to forgetfulness, laziness, or apathy. Remnants of social-distancing stickers on some New York City sidewalks appear too tattered to bother scraping away; outdoor-dining sheds, elaborately constructed but now barely used, are a hassle to dismantle. A faded decal posted at a restaurant near my home in Manhattan depicts social-distancing guidelines for ordering takeout alcohol that haven’t been relevant since 2020. “There’s a very human side to this,” Fessler said. “We forget to take things down. We forget to update signs.”

    But not all of it can be chalked up to negligence. Signs taped to a door can be removed as easily as they are posted; plastic barriers can be taken down. Apart from the ease, ghost architecture should have disappeared by now because spotting it is never pleasant. Even in passing, the signs can awaken uncomfortable memories of the early pandemic. The country’s overarching response to the pandemic is what Klinenberg calls the “will not to know”—a conscious denial that COVID changed life in any meaningful way. Surely, then, some examples are left there on purpose, even if they evoke bad memories.

    When I recently encountered the masks required sign that’s still in the doorway of my local pizza shop, my mind flashed back to more distressing times: Remember when that was a thing? The sign awakened a nagging voice in my brain reminding me that I used to mask up and encourage others to do the same, filling me with guilt that I no longer do so. Perhaps the shop owner has felt something similar. Though uncomfortable, the signs may persist because taking them down requires engaging with their messages head-on, prompting a round of fraught self-examination: Do I no longer believe in masking? Why not? “We have to consciously and purposely say we no longer need this,” Klinenberg told me.

    Outdated signs are likely more prevalent in places that embraced public-health measures to begin with, namely bluer areas. “I would be surprised to see the same level of ghost architecture in Florida, Texas, or Alabama,” Klinenberg said. But ghost architecture seems to persist everywhere. A colleague sent a photo of a floor sticker in a Boise, Idaho, restaurant that continues to thank diners for practicing social distancing. These COVID callbacks are sometimes even virtual: An outdated website for a Miami Beach spa still encourages guests to physically distance and to “swipe your own credit card.”

    Most of all, the persistence of ghost architecture directly reflects the failure of public-health messaging to clearly state what measures were needed, and when. Much of the signage grew out of garbled communication in the first place: “Six feet” directives, for example, far outlasted the point when public-health experts knew it was a faulty benchmark for stopping transmission.

    The rollback of public-health precautions has been just as chaotic. Masking policy has vacillated wildly since the arrival of vaccines; although the federal COVID emergency declaration officially ended last May, there was no corresponding call to end public-health measures across the country. Instead, individual policies lapsed at different times in different states, and in some cases were setting-specific: California didn’t end its mask requirement for high-risk environments such as nursing homes until last April. Most people still don’t know how to think about COVID, Klinenberg said, and it’s easier to just leave things as they are.

    If these signs are the result of confusing COVID messaging, they are also adding to the problem. Prompts to wash or sanitize your hands are generally harmless. In other situations, however, ghost architecture can perpetuate misguided beliefs, such as thinking that keeping six feet apart is protective in a room full of unmasked people, or that masks alone are foolproof against COVID. To people who must still take precautions for health reasons, the fact that signs are still up, only to be ignored, can feel like a slap in the face. The downside to letting ghost architecture persist is that it sustains uncertainty about how to behave, during a pandemic or otherwise.

    The contradiction inherent in ghost architecture is that it both calls to mind the pandemic and reflects a widespread indifference to it. Maybe people don’t bother to take the signs down because they assume that nobody will follow them anyway, Fessler said. Avoidance and apathy are keeping them in place, and there’s not much reason to think that will change. At this rate, COVID’s ghost signage may follow the same trajectory as the defunct Cold War–era nuclear-fallout-shelter signs that lingered on New York City buildings for more than half a century, at once misleading observers and reminding them that the nuclear threat, though diminished, is still present.

    The signs I saw at the Newark airport seemed to me hopelessly obsolete, yet they still stoked unease about how little I think about COVID now, even though the virus is still far deadlier than the flu and other common respiratory illnesses. Passing another stop the spread hand-sanitizing station, I put my palm under the dispenser, expecting nothing. But this time, a dollop of gel squirted into my hand.

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    Yasmin Tayag

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  • Robert F. Kennedy Jr. Promises to Spoil the Election

    Robert F. Kennedy Jr. Promises to Spoil the Election

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    Three words told the story. Robert F. Kennedy Jr.’s campaign had billed this afternoon’s event in Philadelphia as a “much-anticipated announcement.” Of course, that specific phrase may have been more true than intended.

    Ever since Kennedy entered the Democratic presidential primary race in the spring, observers had been anticipating that he’d one day announce his honest intentions as a 2024 candidate. Given Kennedy’s rhetoric, his positions, and his support from conservative operatives, was he really running as a Democrat? A couple thousand people—supporters, journalists, campaign volunteers, people with nothing to do—trekked to Philly to find out.

    The candidate was nothing if not on message. Standing in front of a backdrop that read DECLARE YOUR INDEPENDENCE, Kennedy looked out at Independence Hall as he spoke of “a new declaration of independence for our entire nation.” He rattled off a list of everything we’d soon be independent from: cynical elites, the mainstream media, wealthy donors. (Though, presumably, not the same wealthy donors who recently raised more than $2 million for him and his super PAC at a private estate in Brentwood, California, with help from his friend Eric Clapton). Onstage, Kennedy formally declared his independence “from the Democratic Party and all other political parties”—perhaps an unsubtle way to shoot down speculation that he might change his mind and run as a Libertarian, or even a Republican. As his wife, Cheryl Hines, said a bit cryptically before her husband took the stage: “Are you really ready for Bobby Kennedy?”

    Kennedy, whom many came to know as a Boomer environmentalist, was the star of this mellow show with a distinct ’60s campus vibe. At one table, attendees were invited to literally sketch their vision of the future on blank sheets of paper with colored pens. Throngs gathered on the grass in front of the National Constitution Center and were led in a Native American tribal dance, followed by the inoffensive piano stylings of Tim Hockenberry, who covered “Jersey Girl” in a Springsteen growl. Outside the entrance, enterprising vendors sold an array of Kennedy memorabilia: buttons that read RESIST INSANITY, RAGE AGAINST THE PROPAGANDA MACHINE, and FIT TO BE PRESIDENT, featuring a photo of a buff, shirtless Kennedy. One attendee waved a giant black-and-white flag with a message for their fellow Kennedy-heads: WE ARE THE CONTROL GROUP. Many people wore fedoras.

    Read: Inside the mind of Robert F. Kennedy Jr.

    They came from all over. Michael Schroth, 69, and his wife, Luz, had taken a 4:30 a.m. bus down from Boston. Schroth told me he voted for Barack Obama twice, but also voted for the third-party candidate Ralph Nader twice, as well as Jill Stein in 2016. “I look for the best candidate, and I don’t care if they’re going to win or not. It’s getting the idea out,” he said. Chris Devol, 56, from Phoenixville, Pennsylvania, was wearing a Philadelphia Eagles hoodie and smiling ear to ear as he awaited Kennedy’s arrival. Devol told me he had voted for the third-party candidate Ross Perot in 1992, and that although he wasn’t sure whether he’d support Kennedy next November, he “100 percent” supported the idea of him competing in the Democratic primary. An elderly woman named Barbara (last name withheld), a retired teacher from Lansdowne, Pennsylvania, told me she believed that President Joe Biden wasn’t doing anything to address the nation’s drug problem. She said a bag of fentanyl was recently found on the steps of her local church, then asked me if I was familiar with the Boxer Rebellion.

    Prior to Kennedy’s address, Rabbi Shmuley Boteach, one of the opening speakers, asked for a moment of silence to honor the violence of this past weekend. Someone in the crowd yelled out “Warmonger!” Another screamed, “Free the Palestinians!” Boteach acknowledged neither individual, and said he greatly respects Kennedy, who has been accused of anti-Semitism, as a man of faith. Later, Kennedy said he had arrived at a place where he was serving only his conscience, his creator, and “you”—the voters.

    This afternoon marked the culmination of what he described as a “very painful” decision. He noted his long-standing ties to the Democrats, the party of his family, which he casually referred to as a dynasty, before tearing into the tyranny of the two-party system. For weeks, Kennedy had been attacking the Democratic National Committee for “rigging” the primary process. (The DNC has refused to hold primary debates, as is custom when a party’s incumbents are running for reelection.) Kennedy has been polling in the double digits against Biden, but his support hasn’t grown meaningfully since he launched his campaign. As of last Friday, according to the FiveThirtyEight average, Kennedy was polling at 16.4 percent compared with Biden’s 61.2 percent. Four of his siblings—Kerry Kennedy, Rory Kennedy, Joseph P. Kennedy II, and Kathleen Kennedy Townsend—issued a statement today denouncing their brother’s newly independent candidacy, calling his decision “perilous for our country.” Kennedy acknowledged the challenge ahead of him. “There have been independent candidates in this country before,” he said. “But this time it’s going to be different.”

    Kennedy is the second candidate in as many weeks to go rogue. Cornel West dropped his Green Party affiliation in favor of an independent bid, telling The New York Times, “I am a jazz man in politics and the life of the mind who refuses to play only in a party band!” Though neither Democrats nor Republicans seem particularly worried about the candidacies of West or Marianne Williamson, Kennedy is different. “The Democrats are frightened that I’m going to spoil the election for President Biden, and the Republicans are frightened that I’m going to spoil the election for President Trump,” Kennedy said. He waited for a strategic beat. “The truth is, they’re both right.”

    Read: The 2024 U.S. presidential race: a cheat sheet

    All year long, mainstream Democrats have tried to pretend that Kennedy simply doesn’t exist, with mixed results. Both the Biden campaign and the DNC declined to comment today on Kennedy’s switch. The RNC, for its part, blasted out a list of “23 Reasons to Oppose RFK Jr.,” and reports have been circulating that Trump’s allies are preparing to pummel Kennedy with opposition research. Last week, the election analyst Nate Silver argued that Kennedy’s independent run won’t necessarily hurt Biden, and it might even help him. David Axelrod, the chief strategist of Barack Obama’s campaigns, took a different view. “I think anything that lowers the threshold for winning helps Trump, who has a high floor and low ceiling [of support,]” Axelrod told me.

    Kennedy tantalized the crowd with nuggets that purport to make the case for his electability: “I have seen the polls that they won’t show you.” He pointed out that 63 percent of Americans want an independent to run for president. Though he didn’t cite the origin of this statistic, it aligns with recent Gallup polling, which also showed that 58 percent of Republicans endorse a third U.S. political party, up from 45 percent last year.

    Kennedy has built his candidacy, and his career as a lawyer and writer more broadly, on the idea that there are lots of things “they won’t show you.” As I wrote in a profile of Kennedy this summer, he has promoted a theory that Wi-Fi radiation causes cancer and “leaky brain,” saying it “opens your blood-brain barrier.” He has suggested that antidepressants might have contributed to the rise in mass shootings. He told me he believes that Ukraine is engaged in a “proxy” war and that Russia’s invasion, although “illegal,” would not have taken place if the United States “didn’t want it to.”

    “He’s drawing from many of those Trump voters—the two-time Obama, onetime Trump—that are still disaffected, want change, and maybe haven’t found a permanent home in the Trump movement,” Steve Bannon told me as I was reporting the profile. “Populist left, populist right, and where that Venn diagram overlaps—he’s talking to those people.”

    The reality is that Kennedy will have an extremely hard time even getting his name on the ballot. The GOP “dirty trickster” Roger Stone, who earlier this year was accused of being among those propping up Kennedy’s candidacy (something he has repeatedly denied), told me in a text message that Kennedy faces a “Herculean task” with “50 different state laws written by Republicans and Democrats working together to make ballot access as difficult as possible.” Even if Kennedy is right and voters are looking for a true alternative to Trump and Biden, mathematically, Kennedy’s path to 270 electoral votes is almost incomprehensible.

    Nevertheless, he said he believes that he is at the start of a new American moment. “Something is stirring in us that says, It doesn’t have to be this way,” Kennedy said onstage. He nodded to Martin Luther King Jr.’s “I’ve Been to the Mountaintop” speech from the eve of his assassination and quoted Abraham Lincoln quoting Jesus Christ: “A house divided cannot stand.” He said that the left and the right had become “all mixed up.” He said that he was proud to count those on both sides of the abortion debate among his supporters, in addition to “climate activists” and “climate skeptics,” and, of course, the “vaccinated” and the “unvaccinated.” Perhaps saying the quiet part out loud, Kennedy said it would be very hard for people to tell “whether my administration is left or right.” He had no shortage of curious metaphors. He promised not just to “take the wheel,” but to “reboot the GPS.” The nation’s two-party system? “A two-headed monster that leads us over a cliff.” And, in case it wasn’t clear: “At the bottom of that cliff is the destruction of our country.”

    When I interviewed Kennedy for the profile, I asked him what he thought would be more dangerous for the country: four more years of Biden, or another Trump term. “I can’t answer that,” he said.

    Around that time, I asked his campaign manager, Dennis Kucinich, if Kennedy was committed to running solely as a Democratic candidate.

    “He’s running in the Democratic primary,” Kucinich responded.

    “So, no chance of a third party?”

    “He’s running in the Democratic primary.”

    “Gotcha. And nothing could change that?”

    “He’s running in the Democratic primary.”

    Today, after Kennedy finished speaking, Kucinich briefly seized the mic and led the crowd in a building, dramatic chant:

    “I declare my independence!”

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    John Hendrickson

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