Fires near Chernobyl pose 'no risk to human health', IAEA says
EXCEPT THEY HAVE BEEN BURNING FOR A MONTH LONGER THAN PREDICTED THE SMOKE AND PARTICULATE CREATE TOXIC AIR POLLUTION
FILE PHOTO: A view shows a wooden house on fire, as an operation to extinguish wildfires around the defunct Chernobyl nuclear plant continues, in Lyudvynivka in Kiev Region, Ukraine April 18, 2020. REUTERS/Volodymyr Shuvayev
VIENNA (Reuters) - Radiation from fires that have torn through forests around Ukraine’s defunct Chernobyl nuclear power plant poses “no risk to human health”, the U.N. atomic agency said on Friday, based on data provided by Ukraine.
The main fire among several blazes was extinguished last week but advanced far into the 30 km exclusion zone around the plant, the site of the world’s worst nuclear accident in 1986. Smaller fires are still burning in the exclusion zone, its administration said on Friday evening.
Footage from the site has shown plumes of smoke billowing from the charred landscape, and environmental activists have said the burning of contaminated trees and other vegetation could disperse radioactive particles, posing a health risk.
“The recent fires in the Exclusion Zone near the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant in Ukraine have not led to any hazardous increase of radioactive particles in the air,” the Vienna-based International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA) said in a statement.
The Vienna-based IAEA, which acts as the U.N. nuclear watchdog but also aims to encourage the peaceful use of nuclear energy, said it was basing its assessment on data provided by Ukraine.
The IAEA said it found “the increase in levels of radiation measured in the country was very small and posed no risk to human health”.
There had been “some minor increases in radiation”, the IAEA said, adding the State Nuclear Regulatory Inspectorate of Ukraine had found “the concentration of radioactive materials in the air remained below Ukraine’s radiation safety norms”
SEE
Air quality levels in Ukraine dip to 'moderate' as fires continue to burn
APRIL 18, 2020
https://plawiuk.blogspot.com/2020/04/chernobyl-wildfire-air-quality-levels.html
Chernobyl fire under control, Ukraine officials say
BBC 14 April 2020
https://plawiuk.blogspot.com/2020/04/chernobyl-fire-under-control-ukraine.html
Chernobyl fire: Huge forest blaze moves within one kilometre of abandoned nuclear plant
Wednesday, April 14, 2020
https://plawiuk.blogspot.com/2020/04/chernobyl-fire-huge-forest-blaze-moves.html
POLISH NATIONAL PARK BURNS ON EARTH DAY
https://plawiuk.blogspot.com/2020/04/wildfire-ravages-polands-largest.html
It’s possible that I shall make an ass of myself. But in that case one can always get out of it with a little dialectic. I have, of course, so worded my proposition as to be right either way (K.Marx, Letter to F.Engels on the Indian Mutiny)
Saturday, April 25, 2020
Peru indigenous warn of 'ethnocide by inaction' as coronavirus hits Amazon tribes
Maria Cervantes
LIMA (Reuters) - Indigenous tribes in Peru’s Amazon say the government has left them to fend for themselves against the coronavirus, risking “ethnocide by inaction,” according to a letter from natives to the United Nations and the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights.
FILE PHOTO - A member of an indigenous group from the Amazon region attend a meeting with Pope Francis at the Coliseo Regional Madre de Dios in Puerto Maldonado, Peru, January 19, 2018. REUTERS/Alessandro Bianchi
The formal complaint asks the U.N. and international courts to force the government to take “concrete action” to ensure their survival, citing the 1948 U.N. Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide.
Eight native leaders representing 1,800 communities in the Peruvian Amazon signed the letter which was published by indigenous group AIDESEP on Thursday.
Health experts have warned the spreading virus could be lethal for the Amazon´s indigenous people, who have been decimated for centuries by diseases brought by Europeans, from smallpox and malaria to the flu.
“They send messages every day about what the (government) is going to do in the cities, but nothing for indigenous peoples,” Lizardo Cauper, president of AIDESEP, told Reuters. “For us, this is discrimination.”
At least four natives from the Puerto Bethel region, a remote Amazon wilderness community two hours by river from the capital of Ucayali, have contracted the disease, according to a spokesman for the Ministry of Health.
The Ministry of Culture said earlier this week that it shipped supplies for improving sanitation and hygiene to Puerto Bethel and was monitoring the situation.
BANANA LEAVES
The natives infected with coronavirus have self-isolated in a local community, said Ronald Suarez, president of the Shipibo Konibo Xetebo ethnic group. But they have few supplies to protect themselves, he told Reuters.
“People put up banana leaves to protect themselves,” Suarez said, explaining they could be used as a makeshift mask.
He said medications and treatment options are also in short supply, forcing many to treat symptoms with medicinal plants.
Peru’s Ombudsman’s Office warned earlier this month the disease could spread quickly to other indigenous communities if officials do not take fast action.
The ombudsman says only 4 of 10 communities have health care facilities in this poor, remote region of the Amazon.
Peru reported 21,648 cases of the coronavirus on Friday, the second highest tally in Latin America, and 634 related deaths. There have been no reports of indigenous people killed by the virus.
Reporting by Maria Cervantes; Additional reporting by Marco Aquino; Writing by Dave Sherwood; Editing by Daniel Wallis
Special Report: India's migrant workers fall through cracks in coronavirus lockdown
Alasdair Pal, Danish Siddiqui
JUGYAI, India (Reuters) - Most days, you can find Dayaram Kushwaha and his wife, Gyanvati, hauling bricks for stonemasons in a booming northern suburb of New Delhi. They bring their 5-year-old son, who plays in the dirt while they work.
But now a hush has come over the clattering construction site, silenced by India’s nationwide order to shelter in place to prevent the spread of the novel coronavirus. Site managers no longer come to the intersection where Dayaram and many others stand, hoping to pick up work.
And so, with no way to feed his family or pay the rent, Dayaram hoisted his son Shivam onto his shoulders and began to walk to the village where he was born, 300 miles away.
He tried not to worry about what would happen once he got there, with empty pockets instead of the money he usually sent home to help support those left behind. At least he would have a home.
By dusk on the second day, Dayaram and around 50 others from his extended family had reached a deserted expressway running south out of the capital.
The family were hungry, thirsty and tired, and the police were never far away. Every time they stopped to rest, officers would shout at them to keep moving in single file, to maintain distance from one another to avoid spreading the virus. Officers are under orders to enforce the lockdown, but on that day they were allowing people to move.
Dayaram, 28, looked around. Thousands of other migrant workers were doing the same thing, in one of the biggest mass movements of people in the country since the partition of India and Pakistan in 1947.
It began to rain. Dayaram’s thoughts turned to his other son, 7-year-old Mangal, who had been left behind in the village with elderly relatives because it was too hard to care for two children while he and his wife worked. He missed him.
In the middle of a pandemic, there was one consolation: “At least I will be with him.”
PUSH AND PULL
For decades, villages across India have been emptying out.
To many people, the decision is one of simple arithmetic: to earn $6 per day instead of $3 back home. In areas like the parched Bundelkhand region of Madhya Pradesh state, home to Dayaram’s ancestral village, living off the land has become increasingly difficult as rainfall recedes.
Others seek something more abstract: the prospect of escape that pulls anyone toward a big city.
But after the shutdown, the cities themselves began to empty. Dayaram and his family were among the first to move. As the days went on, and the situation became more desperate, hundreds of thousands of migrants emerged from factories and workplaces in search of a way home.
Indian officials say the shutdown is necessary to beat coronavirus in the densely populated country of 1.3 billion people, with a health infrastructure that can ill afford a widespread outbreak.
But for Dayaram and many of India’s estimated 140 million migrant laborers, the epidemic is much more than a threat to their health – it endangers their very economic survival.
In the shutdown, India has banned domestic and international travel, and factories, schools, offices and all shops other than those supplying essential services have been shut. Taken together, the measures amount to one of the harshest lockdowns in the world.
Cases here have spiked to nearly 17,000, with more than 500 deaths. On April 14, the government extended the curbs until at least May 3, prompting clashes between police and migrants trying to leave India’s financial capital, Mumbai.
Migrants are the backbone of the urban economy. Construction workers such as Dayaram are a necessity for India’s rapidly expanding cities. Others clean toilets, drive taxis and deliver takeout. They predominantly earn daily wages, with no prospect of job security, and live in dirty, densely populated slums, saving money to send back home.
That money is essential to the young and elderly left behind in villages. Around $30 billion flows from urban to rural areas in India each year, according to government and academic estimates.
Now that infusion of money, transferred through rural banks or in worn stacks of rupees borne home on rare visits, has come to a halt.
TURN BACK TIME
The journey from New Delhi deep into rural India is one not just of distance, but of traveling back in time.
Skyscrapers and well-paved toll roads give way to fields of wheat and okra. Bare-backed men till the land with buffalo; an elderly shepherd herds his goats down a dusty lane.
After four days of walking and hitching lifts on a series of goods trucks, Dayaram, Gyanvati and Shivam reached their family’s two-room concrete hut in Jugyai, a farming village of 2,000 people.
In a dingy room in the house filled with sacks of grain and clothes, an unframed poster hangs on the wall. It depicts a handsome red-roofed house on a lake, sun setting behind snow-capped mountains. A pair of mallard ducks fly overhead.
FILE PHOTO: Dayaram Kushwaha, a migrant worker, carries his 5-year-old son, Shivam, on his shoulders as they walk along a road to return to their village, during a 21-day nationwide lockdown to limit the spreading of coronavirus, in New Delhi, India, March 26, 2020. REUTERS/Danish Siddiqui
“I want to turn the clock back to when people lived in small villages and took care of each other,” it says.
Though he can’t read the English text on the poster, Dayaram agrees with the sentiment. He misses this village that can no longer sustain him.
“It’s not that I love Delhi,” he said. “I need the money to survive. If we had it, we would have stayed here. This is home.”
His mother, 53-year-old Kesra, is more practical. She too had gone to New Delhi with her family, leaving the village behind.
“Home is wherever the family is,” she said. “At least in Delhi there is money to buy food.”
But now they are all back, and there is no money to buy food. Making it even worse, suspicion is never far away. The returnees must deal with new prejudice from villagers who used to be their friends.
“I am scared,” said Sai Ram Lal, a neighbor who works in a soybean-oil factory here.
“It was spreading in Delhi, and I am worried that they have brought it here. We keep our distance. We don’t interact with them like we used to before.”
For Dayaram, that has left him an outsider in his own village.
“WE ARE LIKE GARBAGE”
The Bundelkhand region is famous for the towering 16th century sandstone temples and mausoleums of nearby Orchha. It has its own distinct culture, and young men still listen to high-tempo music in the local Bundeli language on their mobile phones.
The region used to get up to 35 inches of rain per year, according to the India Meteorological Department, but over the last decade, that has almost halved.
For many of the villagers, who have traditionally earned their living farming, it is a slow-motion disaster, forcing most able-bodied men and women to migrate in search of work.
It is early April, and even before the full onset of the fierce Indian summer, where temperatures climb toward 50 degrees Celsius, or 120 Fahrenheit, the air is already uncomfortably dry.
In a neighboring village where the majority of Dayaram’s extended family lives, two dozen men stood idling by the road.
Only one, 62-year-old Lal Ram, has never been to Delhi. “I had some money, so I never went,” he said with a shrug.
He’s also the only one with a ration card, a sore point for those who migrated to Delhi. The Targeted Public Distribution Scheme allows India’s poorest to purchase 5 kilograms of subsidized grains per month each. But because the migrant workers are no longer permanent residents, they’re left without access to the food doled out from a nearby grain silo.
“Nobody listens to us,” one of the men said bitterly. “We are like garbage.”
Harshika Singh, the top government official in the district where both villages lie, didn’t respond to requests for comment on the migrants’ case.
After this story was published, Indian government spokesman K.S. Dhatwalia issued a statement to Reuters on Friday outlining measures being taken to assist the poor during the pandemic. The government was offering food and cash for essential supplies to poor and marginalized people, Dhatwalia said, and relief camps have been set up in different parts of the country.
Dayaram’s father, 58-year-old Takur Das, was the first in the family to set off for New Delhi in search for work when it became increasingly difficult to make a living off the parched land.
That was a decade ago. Eventually, he sent for his son, too. The work there was hard, but it was steady.
“We can get some money for your wedding,” he told Dayaram.
Many people in New Delhi would struggle to find Alipur, the Delhi suburb where they settled, on a map. It rarely makes the national news but for misfortune involving laborers: 25 children rescued by authorities in a series of warehouse raids; four men, including two brothers, crushed to death by sacks of rice.
Dayaram says his heart sank when he saw the crowded, tarpaulin-roofed slum where the family slept 12 to a room. His first thought was to run away back to the village.
But he stayed. What else could he do?
Dayaram talks continuously about fate. His marriage, his move to New Delhi, his flight back home – all were decisions made not out of choice, but necessity.
Dayaram’s maternal aunt played matchmaker when it came time for him to marry. He and Gyanvati were from the same Kushwaha caste, from a lower rung of India’s ancient social order who traditionally worked in agriculture.
Slideshow (16 Images)
They first met a month before their wedding day.
“She was OK,” Dayaram said, a smile briefly crossing his face, remembering their meeting.
“But whatever is in my fate is fine, whether it is good or bad.”
After Mangal was born, Gyanvati stayed behind in Jugyai to look after him. When he was 1½, she came to New Delhi with him, too.
But after Shivam was born, they were faced with a choice: take Mangal, too, or leave him in the village.
“It’s easier to carry one child while working, but two is too difficult,” Gyanvati said. “So we had to leave him behind.”
NO ALTERNATIVE
The family’s return this month coincided with harvest of the winter wheat crop. One morning, after a night on a rope-strung bed under the light of the pink supermoon, Dayaram put on a shirt ripped at the left armpit and headed to a nearby field.
His sons trailed behind, picking unripe berries from a bush. Shivam, wearing the same faded shirt in yellow checks as when he left New Delhi, put his hand on his elder brother’s shoulder.
Dayaram, Gyanvati and three other relatives began cropping stalks by hand with well-worn scythes. After three days there, harvesting almost a ton of wheat, they received no payment – just 50 kilograms of the crop to take to the village flour mill.
The family’s basket of lumpen potatoes would last a week. When that ran out, they would have to survive on bread alone.
In good months in New Delhi, they were able to save 8,000 rupees, or about $100, a month to send back home, and to repay a loan taken out when Gyanvati fell sick early in their marriage.
But soon, Dayaram said, he would be forced to borrow again from local money lenders, charging interest at 3% a month – a rate that can quickly spiral into unpayable debts.
Despite being separated for months at a time, Mangal and Shivam are still close. Both have their father’s broad nose and mother’s lively eyes, the same matching bowl haircuts with unevenly shorn sides.
“They cut each other’s hair,” said Gyanvati, laughing. “That’s why they look like that.”
Both boys shrugged when asked if they wanted to go school, as if the issue had never really been discussed.
Dayaram worries that the shutdown will end any hope of providing his children with an education.
“No parent wants their child to work as a laborer,” he said. But there is no alternative, he said: “They will have to do what I have done.”
Beneath the brilliant red blossoms of the Indian coral tree, the family finished
Alasdair Pal, Danish Siddiqui
JUGYAI, India (Reuters) - Most days, you can find Dayaram Kushwaha and his wife, Gyanvati, hauling bricks for stonemasons in a booming northern suburb of New Delhi. They bring their 5-year-old son, who plays in the dirt while they work.
But now a hush has come over the clattering construction site, silenced by India’s nationwide order to shelter in place to prevent the spread of the novel coronavirus. Site managers no longer come to the intersection where Dayaram and many others stand, hoping to pick up work.
And so, with no way to feed his family or pay the rent, Dayaram hoisted his son Shivam onto his shoulders and began to walk to the village where he was born, 300 miles away.
He tried not to worry about what would happen once he got there, with empty pockets instead of the money he usually sent home to help support those left behind. At least he would have a home.
By dusk on the second day, Dayaram and around 50 others from his extended family had reached a deserted expressway running south out of the capital.
The family were hungry, thirsty and tired, and the police were never far away. Every time they stopped to rest, officers would shout at them to keep moving in single file, to maintain distance from one another to avoid spreading the virus. Officers are under orders to enforce the lockdown, but on that day they were allowing people to move.
Dayaram, 28, looked around. Thousands of other migrant workers were doing the same thing, in one of the biggest mass movements of people in the country since the partition of India and Pakistan in 1947.
It began to rain. Dayaram’s thoughts turned to his other son, 7-year-old Mangal, who had been left behind in the village with elderly relatives because it was too hard to care for two children while he and his wife worked. He missed him.
In the middle of a pandemic, there was one consolation: “At least I will be with him.”
PUSH AND PULL
For decades, villages across India have been emptying out.
To many people, the decision is one of simple arithmetic: to earn $6 per day instead of $3 back home. In areas like the parched Bundelkhand region of Madhya Pradesh state, home to Dayaram’s ancestral village, living off the land has become increasingly difficult as rainfall recedes.
Others seek something more abstract: the prospect of escape that pulls anyone toward a big city.
But after the shutdown, the cities themselves began to empty. Dayaram and his family were among the first to move. As the days went on, and the situation became more desperate, hundreds of thousands of migrants emerged from factories and workplaces in search of a way home.
Indian officials say the shutdown is necessary to beat coronavirus in the densely populated country of 1.3 billion people, with a health infrastructure that can ill afford a widespread outbreak.
But for Dayaram and many of India’s estimated 140 million migrant laborers, the epidemic is much more than a threat to their health – it endangers their very economic survival.
In the shutdown, India has banned domestic and international travel, and factories, schools, offices and all shops other than those supplying essential services have been shut. Taken together, the measures amount to one of the harshest lockdowns in the world.
Cases here have spiked to nearly 17,000, with more than 500 deaths. On April 14, the government extended the curbs until at least May 3, prompting clashes between police and migrants trying to leave India’s financial capital, Mumbai.
Migrants are the backbone of the urban economy. Construction workers such as Dayaram are a necessity for India’s rapidly expanding cities. Others clean toilets, drive taxis and deliver takeout. They predominantly earn daily wages, with no prospect of job security, and live in dirty, densely populated slums, saving money to send back home.
That money is essential to the young and elderly left behind in villages. Around $30 billion flows from urban to rural areas in India each year, according to government and academic estimates.
Now that infusion of money, transferred through rural banks or in worn stacks of rupees borne home on rare visits, has come to a halt.
TURN BACK TIME
The journey from New Delhi deep into rural India is one not just of distance, but of traveling back in time.
Skyscrapers and well-paved toll roads give way to fields of wheat and okra. Bare-backed men till the land with buffalo; an elderly shepherd herds his goats down a dusty lane.
After four days of walking and hitching lifts on a series of goods trucks, Dayaram, Gyanvati and Shivam reached their family’s two-room concrete hut in Jugyai, a farming village of 2,000 people.
In a dingy room in the house filled with sacks of grain and clothes, an unframed poster hangs on the wall. It depicts a handsome red-roofed house on a lake, sun setting behind snow-capped mountains. A pair of mallard ducks fly overhead.
FILE PHOTO: Dayaram Kushwaha, a migrant worker, carries his 5-year-old son, Shivam, on his shoulders as they walk along a road to return to their village, during a 21-day nationwide lockdown to limit the spreading of coronavirus, in New Delhi, India, March 26, 2020. REUTERS/Danish Siddiqui
“I want to turn the clock back to when people lived in small villages and took care of each other,” it says.
Though he can’t read the English text on the poster, Dayaram agrees with the sentiment. He misses this village that can no longer sustain him.
“It’s not that I love Delhi,” he said. “I need the money to survive. If we had it, we would have stayed here. This is home.”
His mother, 53-year-old Kesra, is more practical. She too had gone to New Delhi with her family, leaving the village behind.
“Home is wherever the family is,” she said. “At least in Delhi there is money to buy food.”
But now they are all back, and there is no money to buy food. Making it even worse, suspicion is never far away. The returnees must deal with new prejudice from villagers who used to be their friends.
“I am scared,” said Sai Ram Lal, a neighbor who works in a soybean-oil factory here.
“It was spreading in Delhi, and I am worried that they have brought it here. We keep our distance. We don’t interact with them like we used to before.”
For Dayaram, that has left him an outsider in his own village.
“WE ARE LIKE GARBAGE”
The Bundelkhand region is famous for the towering 16th century sandstone temples and mausoleums of nearby Orchha. It has its own distinct culture, and young men still listen to high-tempo music in the local Bundeli language on their mobile phones.
The region used to get up to 35 inches of rain per year, according to the India Meteorological Department, but over the last decade, that has almost halved.
For many of the villagers, who have traditionally earned their living farming, it is a slow-motion disaster, forcing most able-bodied men and women to migrate in search of work.
It is early April, and even before the full onset of the fierce Indian summer, where temperatures climb toward 50 degrees Celsius, or 120 Fahrenheit, the air is already uncomfortably dry.
In a neighboring village where the majority of Dayaram’s extended family lives, two dozen men stood idling by the road.
Only one, 62-year-old Lal Ram, has never been to Delhi. “I had some money, so I never went,” he said with a shrug.
He’s also the only one with a ration card, a sore point for those who migrated to Delhi. The Targeted Public Distribution Scheme allows India’s poorest to purchase 5 kilograms of subsidized grains per month each. But because the migrant workers are no longer permanent residents, they’re left without access to the food doled out from a nearby grain silo.
“Nobody listens to us,” one of the men said bitterly. “We are like garbage.”
Harshika Singh, the top government official in the district where both villages lie, didn’t respond to requests for comment on the migrants’ case.
After this story was published, Indian government spokesman K.S. Dhatwalia issued a statement to Reuters on Friday outlining measures being taken to assist the poor during the pandemic. The government was offering food and cash for essential supplies to poor and marginalized people, Dhatwalia said, and relief camps have been set up in different parts of the country.
Dayaram’s father, 58-year-old Takur Das, was the first in the family to set off for New Delhi in search for work when it became increasingly difficult to make a living off the parched land.
That was a decade ago. Eventually, he sent for his son, too. The work there was hard, but it was steady.
“We can get some money for your wedding,” he told Dayaram.
Many people in New Delhi would struggle to find Alipur, the Delhi suburb where they settled, on a map. It rarely makes the national news but for misfortune involving laborers: 25 children rescued by authorities in a series of warehouse raids; four men, including two brothers, crushed to death by sacks of rice.
Dayaram says his heart sank when he saw the crowded, tarpaulin-roofed slum where the family slept 12 to a room. His first thought was to run away back to the village.
But he stayed. What else could he do?
Dayaram talks continuously about fate. His marriage, his move to New Delhi, his flight back home – all were decisions made not out of choice, but necessity.
Dayaram’s maternal aunt played matchmaker when it came time for him to marry. He and Gyanvati were from the same Kushwaha caste, from a lower rung of India’s ancient social order who traditionally worked in agriculture.
Slideshow (16 Images)
They first met a month before their wedding day.
“She was OK,” Dayaram said, a smile briefly crossing his face, remembering their meeting.
“But whatever is in my fate is fine, whether it is good or bad.”
After Mangal was born, Gyanvati stayed behind in Jugyai to look after him. When he was 1½, she came to New Delhi with him, too.
But after Shivam was born, they were faced with a choice: take Mangal, too, or leave him in the village.
“It’s easier to carry one child while working, but two is too difficult,” Gyanvati said. “So we had to leave him behind.”
NO ALTERNATIVE
The family’s return this month coincided with harvest of the winter wheat crop. One morning, after a night on a rope-strung bed under the light of the pink supermoon, Dayaram put on a shirt ripped at the left armpit and headed to a nearby field.
His sons trailed behind, picking unripe berries from a bush. Shivam, wearing the same faded shirt in yellow checks as when he left New Delhi, put his hand on his elder brother’s shoulder.
Dayaram, Gyanvati and three other relatives began cropping stalks by hand with well-worn scythes. After three days there, harvesting almost a ton of wheat, they received no payment – just 50 kilograms of the crop to take to the village flour mill.
The family’s basket of lumpen potatoes would last a week. When that ran out, they would have to survive on bread alone.
In good months in New Delhi, they were able to save 8,000 rupees, or about $100, a month to send back home, and to repay a loan taken out when Gyanvati fell sick early in their marriage.
But soon, Dayaram said, he would be forced to borrow again from local money lenders, charging interest at 3% a month – a rate that can quickly spiral into unpayable debts.
Despite being separated for months at a time, Mangal and Shivam are still close. Both have their father’s broad nose and mother’s lively eyes, the same matching bowl haircuts with unevenly shorn sides.
“They cut each other’s hair,” said Gyanvati, laughing. “That’s why they look like that.”
Both boys shrugged when asked if they wanted to go school, as if the issue had never really been discussed.
Dayaram worries that the shutdown will end any hope of providing his children with an education.
“No parent wants their child to work as a laborer,” he said. But there is no alternative, he said: “They will have to do what I have done.”
Beneath the brilliant red blossoms of the Indian coral tree, the family finished
FREE WESTERN PAPUA
Indonesia convicts Papua activists of treason for holding protest
Agustinus Beo Da Costa
JAKARTA (Reuters) - An Indonesian court convicted six activists of treason for organising a protest demanding independence for the easternmost province of Papua, in a verdict slammed by rights groups.
FILE PHOTO: Dano Anes Tabuni, Ambrosius Mulait, Paulus Suryanta Ginting, Arina Elopere, Charles Kossay, and Isay Wenda, pro-Papuan activists who were arrested on suspicion of treason, sing a solidarity song as they arrive at the courtroom before their trial at Central Jakarta District Court in Jakarta, Indonesia, December 19, 2019. REUTERS/Willy Kurniawan
The peaceful protest of about 100 people had been held outside the presidential palace and military headquarters on Aug. 28 in the capital of Jakarta and followed a period of unrest in Papua.
In a sentencing hearing on Friday held online due to the coronavirus outbreak, Judge Agustinus Setya Wahyu Triwiranto said he had found the six defendants “guilty of treason”.
Activists Ambrosius Mulait, Surya Anta, Charles Kossay, Dano Tabuni, and Arina Elopere were convicted and sentenced to nine months in prison, while Isay Wenda was given an eight-month sentence.
All six have been held in prison since August. Prosecutors accused them in December of organising a rally demanding the Indonesian government allow a vote in Papua to let it separate from Indonesia.
International rights groups Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch criticised the convictions, stating that the activists had been attending a peaceful rally over perceived ethnic discrimination.
“The six who were sentenced today did nothing but attend a peaceful protest, enjoying their rights to freedom of expression and assembly,” said Amnesty International Indonesia director Usman Hamid.
Amnesty noted the six activists are part of 57 “prisoners of conscience” from Papua being held for peacefully expressing their views.
Resource-rich Papua was a Dutch colony that was incorporated into Indonesia after a controversial U.N.-backed referendum in 1969, which has since endured decades of mostly low-level separatist conflict.
Thousands of Papuans staged rallies in August to protest an incident that saw a racist slur against Papuan students who were hit by tear gas in their dormitory and detained in the city of Surabaya. The resulting protests were the biggest in years and triggered some calls for independence.
Oky Wiratma, the lawyer for the activists, told Reuters on Saturday the verdict was disproportionate, and the Papuan activists had “protested peacefully against racism”.
He said the six activists were expected to be released in the coming weeks based on the time already served, barring a decision by prosecutors to appeal.
Prosecutors had originally sought 18-months sentences for the activists. Prosecutors were not immediately reachable for comment.
Reporting by Agustinus Beo Da Costal; Writing by Fanny Potkin; Editing by Muralikumar Anantharaman
Exclusive: Venezuela Socialists, opposition leaders begin secret talks amid pandemic - sources
Corina Pons, Mayela Armas
CARACAS (Reuters) - Allies of both Venezuelan President Nicolas Maduro and his bitter foe, opposition leader Juan Guaido, have secretly begun exploratory talks as concerns grow about the possible impact of the spread of the coronavirus, according to sources on both sides.
FILE PHOTO: Venezuela's President Nicolas Maduro speaks during a news conference at Miraflores Palace in Caracas, Venezuela, March 12, 2020. REUTERS/Manaure Quintero/File Photo
The discussions emerged from concerns about the respiratory illness COVID-19, hyperinflation and growing fuel shortages, as well as worries among some members of the ruling Socialist Party about how to ensure their political survival under a possible change of government as Washington tightens sanctions, the sources said.
The talks, which have no clear agenda, show that allies of both Maduro and Guaido remain unconvinced they can defeat the other amid a global pandemic and a broad U.S. sanctions program meant to push Maduro from office.
“There are two extremes: Maduro and those who believe that the virus will end Guaido’s leadership, and those on the other side (who) hope this crisis will bring down Maduro,” said an opposition legislator in favor of the rapprochement.
“I think we have to find solutions.”
Reuters was unable to determine when the talks began, where or how they are taking place, and how Maduro and Guaido view them. Seven sources, who represent both sides of Venezuela’s deep political divide, confirmed the talks.
Maduro and Guaido are competing with one another to help combat the effects of the pandemic, with each side convinced the outbreak will undermine the other politically, said the sources, who asked not to be identified.
Activists and rights groups around the world have urged the two factions to seek a truce in order to coordinate the delivery of aid and boost gasoline imports.
The U.S. State Department in March offered to begin lifting parts of the sanctions if members of the Socialist Party form an interim government without Maduro, a plan backed by Guaido but quickly shot down by the government.
Venezuela’s information ministry and Guaido’s press team did not reply to a request for comment about the current talks.
Guaido later on Tuesday denied the approach after the initial Reuters story was published. “This information is false,” he wrote on his Twitter account. “The democratic alternative is united in its cause and there is only one possible agreement to save Venezuela: to form a National Emergency Government, without drug traffickers in Miraflores, that can access international aid that we need.”
A source in Washington familiar with the matter told Reuters on Tuesday: “There are many private conversations among people in the regime and the opposition, especially since the U.S. announced the transition plan.” The person added: “And there are certainly efforts by Guaido and others to get more aid in to fight the pandemic. That’s led to more conversations by individuals in the opposition and individuals in the regime. What has not happened is any political negotiation.”
The State Department confirmed conversations between representatives of the opposition and officials in Maduro’s government.
“For weeks, Interim President Juan Guaido has been urging the former Maduro regime to take the pandemic more seriously and has been seeking ways to use Venezuelan official funds he can access in the United States to help the struggle against COVID-19,” said a representative of the Bureau of Western Hemisphere Affairs. “This has led to many conversations by representatives of international organizations with regime officials, and some direct conversations between opposition representatives and regime officials, seeking a practical way forward.”
Maduro has frequently said he is willing to hold dialogue.
“We are ready for dialogue, to understand one another and reach a humanitarian agreement to attend to the coronavirus (pandemic),” Maduro said during a televised broadcast over the weekend, without making reference to any specific set of talks.
Guaido, head of the national assembly who assumed an interim presidency last year after disavowing Maduro’s 2018 re-election, is recognized by the United States and more than 50 countries as the nation’s legitimate leader. But other powers such as China and Russia still back Maduro.
One source linked to the government acknowledged the talks were going on.
“There are proposals coming and going” between Maduro allies and members of the four principal opposition parties, said the source.
“There are approaches,” said one opposition deputy who is aware of the discussions. “There are key elements in the government that want to negotiate their salvation.”
The two sides last year participated in a dialogue brokered by Norway in which the opposition had pressed for a new presidential election. But Maduro’s side walked away from the process in protest of U.S. sanctions.
Maduro assures his government has controlled the coronavirus outbreak in Venezuela with the support of China, while Guaido accuses him of using the pandemic as an excuse for disastrous economic policies.
A senior Trump admninistration official said Maduro alone was responsible for “the humanitarian toll in Venezuela, compounded by the recent COVID-19 crisis and the gas shortages.”
Venezuela as of Monday had reported 285 coronavirus infections. The United Nations has called it one of the most vulnerable countries in the world to the virus due to the lack of soap and water in hospitals and the overall impoverishment of the population.
Guaido, who controls Venezuelan government funds held in offshore accounts, is seeking to provide $20 million to the Pan American Health Organization to acquire supplies, according to three sources.
But Maduro’s government is aiming to block the operation via the United Nations, which still recognizes his government.
The Venezuelan offices of the Pan American Health Organization and the United Nations did not respond to requests for comment.
Guaido has offered to pay $100 per month to doctors and nurses with the help of the Organization of American States, a mechanism that has not yet started.
Reporting by Corina Pons, Mayela Armas and Sarah Kinosian in Caracas, and Humeyra Pamuk and Matt Spetalnick in Washington; Writing by Brian Ellsworth; Editing by Alistair Bell and Matthew Lewis
Lebanon legalizes cannabis farming for medicinal use
BACK IN THE DAY WE GOT GREAT HASHISH FROM LEBANON AND THEN A WAR BROKE OUT
FILE PHOTO: A farmer is seen tending to cannabis plants in a field in the Yammouneh area west of Baalbek, Lebanon, August 13, 2018. REUTERS/Mo
BEIRUT (Reuters) - The Lebanese parliament legalized cannabis farming for medicinal use on Tuesday, a potentially lucrative export for an economy in dire need of foreign currency as it grapples with a paralyzing financial crisis.
Although growing the plant is illegal in Lebanon, cannabis has long been farmed openly in the fertile Bekaa Valley.
Parliament’s decision was “really driven by economic motives, nothing else”, said Alain Aoun, a senior MP in the Free Patriotic Movement founded by President Michel Aoun. “We have moral and social reservations but today there is the need to help the economy by any means,” he told Reuters.
The move would bring revenue for the government and develop the agricultural sector while legalizing cultivation which was in any case going on illegally, he said. “We don’t want to speculate on numbers ... but let’s say it is worth a try”.
Hezbollah, a Shi’ite Islamist group backed by Iran, was one of the only parties to oppose the legislation approved in a session on Tuesday.
The idea of legalizing cannabis cultivation with the aim of producing high value-added medicinal products for export was explored in a report by consultancy firm McKinsey commissioned by Lebanon in 2018.
Last month, Lebanese police carried out the country’s biggest drug bust when they seized about 25 tonnes of hashish that were set to be smuggled to an African state.
Reporting by Tom Perry; Editing by Mark Heinrich
BACK IN THE DAY WE GOT GREAT HASHISH FROM LEBANON AND THEN A WAR BROKE OUT
FILE PHOTO: A farmer is seen tending to cannabis plants in a field in the Yammouneh area west of Baalbek, Lebanon, August 13, 2018. REUTERS/Mo
BEIRUT (Reuters) - The Lebanese parliament legalized cannabis farming for medicinal use on Tuesday, a potentially lucrative export for an economy in dire need of foreign currency as it grapples with a paralyzing financial crisis.
Although growing the plant is illegal in Lebanon, cannabis has long been farmed openly in the fertile Bekaa Valley.
Parliament’s decision was “really driven by economic motives, nothing else”, said Alain Aoun, a senior MP in the Free Patriotic Movement founded by President Michel Aoun. “We have moral and social reservations but today there is the need to help the economy by any means,” he told Reuters.
The move would bring revenue for the government and develop the agricultural sector while legalizing cultivation which was in any case going on illegally, he said. “We don’t want to speculate on numbers ... but let’s say it is worth a try”.
Hezbollah, a Shi’ite Islamist group backed by Iran, was one of the only parties to oppose the legislation approved in a session on Tuesday.
The idea of legalizing cannabis cultivation with the aim of producing high value-added medicinal products for export was explored in a report by consultancy firm McKinsey commissioned by Lebanon in 2018.
Last month, Lebanese police carried out the country’s biggest drug bust when they seized about 25 tonnes of hashish that were set to be smuggled to an African state.
Reporting by Tom Perry; Editing by Mark Heinrich
Famed Buenos Aires opera house turns its sewing machines to mask masking
Women sew face masks at the Colon Theater's sewing workshop during the coronavirus disease (COVID-19) outbreak, in Buenos Aires, Argentina April 24, 2020.
Women sew face masks at the Colon Theater's sewing workshop during the coronavirus disease (COVID-19) outbreak, in Buenos Aires, Argentina April 24, 2020.
REUTERS/Agustin Marcarian
(Reuters) - A Buenos Aires landmark and one of the world’s great opera houses, Teatro Colon has adapted its enormous basement workshops to making face masks, churning out 1,500 a week to help Argentina’s health workers cope with the coronavirus pandemic.
“This is a factory of dreams,” said stage director Enrique Bordolini. “The Colon has this advantage that everything you see on stage, when the curtain opens, is made right here.”
More than 50 volunteers who normally work to create stage props, sew tutus, and manage special effects, have been cutting and stitching felt and cloth to make face masks, stamped with the theatre’s logo.
“I feel the same joy that I do when I make costumes. For me, it’s the same pride and I do it just as happily,” said Stella Maris Lopez, the Colon’s head seamstress.
All performances and tours of the theatre have been suspended. Most public places have been closed since March 20 in Argentina, which has reported over 3,000 confirmed cases of the coronavirus and 167 deaths.
(Reuters) - A Buenos Aires landmark and one of the world’s great opera houses, Teatro Colon has adapted its enormous basement workshops to making face masks, churning out 1,500 a week to help Argentina’s health workers cope with the coronavirus pandemic.
“This is a factory of dreams,” said stage director Enrique Bordolini. “The Colon has this advantage that everything you see on stage, when the curtain opens, is made right here.”
More than 50 volunteers who normally work to create stage props, sew tutus, and manage special effects, have been cutting and stitching felt and cloth to make face masks, stamped with the theatre’s logo.
“I feel the same joy that I do when I make costumes. For me, it’s the same pride and I do it just as happily,” said Stella Maris Lopez, the Colon’s head seamstress.
All performances and tours of the theatre have been suspended. Most public places have been closed since March 20 in Argentina, which has reported over 3,000 confirmed cases of the coronavirus and 167 deaths.
Despite risks, auto workers step up to make medical gear
DETROIT (AP) — Cindy Parkhurst could have stayed home collecting most of her pay while the Ford plant where she normally works remains closed due to coronavirus fears.
Instead, she along with hundreds of workers at Ford, General Motors, Toyota and other companies has gone back to work to make face shields, surgical masks and ventilators in a wartime-like effort to stem shortages of protective gear and equipment.
“I didn’t give it a second thought,” said Parkhurst, 55, a tow motor driver who is now helping Ford and its partner 3M manufacture and ship respirators. “It’s a neat thing to do for the community, for the first responders who definitely need this kind of protective gear.”
All over the country, blue-collar and salaried workers have raised their hands to make medical equipment as companies repurpose factories to answer calls for help from beleaguered nurses, doctors and paramedics who are treating patients with the highly contagious virus. Workers also are making soap and hand sanitizer, which early in the crisis were in short supply.
At Ford, over 800 people returned to work at four Detroit-area sites. General Motors, which President Donald Trump had alternately criticized and praised for its work, has about 400 at a now-closed transmission plant in suburban Detroit and an electronics factory in Kokomo, Indiana, working on shields and ventilators. About 60 Toyota workers, both salaried and blue-collar, are making protective equipment in Kentucky, Texas, Michigan and Alabama.
Most automakers in the U.S. temporarily stopped making vehicles about a month ago after workers complained about the risks of infection at the factories. Many white-collar workers are being paid to work remotely but members of the United Auto Workers who don’t have that option are still collecting pay and unemployment benefits that equal about 95% of regular take-home wages.
Those workers making medical gear will get their full base pay, but that’s not what’s motivating them to keep coming to the factories. Many simply want to help.
Jody Barrowman has been making face masks at a repurposed former General Motors transmission factory near Detroit since early April.
“Instead of being home and not helpful, I thought I’d be productive here,” she said.
She jumped at the chance to work because GM is donating the masks to hospitals and first responders “which is where it needs to go,” she said.
Barrowman said that the operation has been so efficient that workers have been allowed to take masks home for family members.
“I dropped some off at my grandparents. My parents took a full packet of masks at my house. So, it’s not just helping the first responders. It’s helping me and my family feel safe,” she said.
This photo provided by Toyota shows Toyota employee Kirk Barber making face shields at the Toyota factory in Georgetown, Ky. Hundreds of workers at Ford, General Motors, Toyota and other companies, have gone back to work to make face shields, surgical masks and even ventilators in a wartime-like effort to stem shortages of protective gear and equipment during the coronavirus pandemic.(Toyota via AP)
This photo provided by Cindy Parkhurst. shows Cindy Parkhurst working at the Ford Flat Rock Assembly Plant in Flat Rock, Mich. Like hundreds of workers at Ford, General Motors, Toyota and other companies, Parkhurst has gone back to work to make face shields, surgical masks and even ventilators in a wartime-like effort to stem shortages of protective gear and equipment during the coronavirus pandemic.(Cindy Parkhurst via AP)
DETROIT (AP) — Cindy Parkhurst could have stayed home collecting most of her pay while the Ford plant where she normally works remains closed due to coronavirus fears.
Instead, she along with hundreds of workers at Ford, General Motors, Toyota and other companies has gone back to work to make face shields, surgical masks and ventilators in a wartime-like effort to stem shortages of protective gear and equipment.
“I didn’t give it a second thought,” said Parkhurst, 55, a tow motor driver who is now helping Ford and its partner 3M manufacture and ship respirators. “It’s a neat thing to do for the community, for the first responders who definitely need this kind of protective gear.”
All over the country, blue-collar and salaried workers have raised their hands to make medical equipment as companies repurpose factories to answer calls for help from beleaguered nurses, doctors and paramedics who are treating patients with the highly contagious virus. Workers also are making soap and hand sanitizer, which early in the crisis were in short supply.
At Ford, over 800 people returned to work at four Detroit-area sites. General Motors, which President Donald Trump had alternately criticized and praised for its work, has about 400 at a now-closed transmission plant in suburban Detroit and an electronics factory in Kokomo, Indiana, working on shields and ventilators. About 60 Toyota workers, both salaried and blue-collar, are making protective equipment in Kentucky, Texas, Michigan and Alabama.
Most automakers in the U.S. temporarily stopped making vehicles about a month ago after workers complained about the risks of infection at the factories. Many white-collar workers are being paid to work remotely but members of the United Auto Workers who don’t have that option are still collecting pay and unemployment benefits that equal about 95% of regular take-home wages.
Those workers making medical gear will get their full base pay, but that’s not what’s motivating them to keep coming to the factories. Many simply want to help.
Jody Barrowman has been making face masks at a repurposed former General Motors transmission factory near Detroit since early April.
“Instead of being home and not helpful, I thought I’d be productive here,” she said.
She jumped at the chance to work because GM is donating the masks to hospitals and first responders “which is where it needs to go,” she said.
Barrowman said that the operation has been so efficient that workers have been allowed to take masks home for family members.
“I dropped some off at my grandparents. My parents took a full packet of masks at my house. So, it’s not just helping the first responders. It’s helping me and my family feel safe,” she said.
This photo provided by Toyota shows Toyota employee Kirk Barber making face shields at the Toyota factory in Georgetown, Ky. Hundreds of workers at Ford, General Motors, Toyota and other companies, have gone back to work to make face shields, surgical masks and even ventilators in a wartime-like effort to stem shortages of protective gear and equipment during the coronavirus pandemic.(Toyota via AP)
Inside a building on Toyota’s giant factory complex in Georgetown, Kentucky, mechanical engineer Kirk Barber helps to ship thousands of face shields that workers are making while plants are shut down. Sometimes he personally delivers boxes to hospitals or the state government, which is distributing them.
All of the workers, he said, had to undergo a cultural change to make sure they stay more than 6 feet apart to protect themselves from possible contagion.
“It’s a hard habit to break when you’re typically up and talking to someone, pointing to a document,” Barber said. “People are very quick to point out ‘hey, you guys need to keep your distance.’”
Twenty-four UAW members have already died from COVID-19 but it’s unclear when or where they contracted the disease. Ford, GM and Toyota said they aren’t aware of any infections among workers who returned to make medical gear. Still, there’s no denying the risks are likely higher at the factories than in the safety of one’s home.
Full Coverage: Virus Outbreak
Joseph Holt, associate professor at Notre Dame’s business school who specializes in ethics and leadership, said the workers and their companies are examples of business doing its best to quickly fill a critical unmet need.
“Courage is doing what you think is right even when it might cost you,” Holt said. “Those workers being willing to go in to work to produce the medical equipment and personal protective gear, even at personal risk — that is moral courage in action.”
The Detroit automakers are trying to restart production on their vehicles, perhaps as soon as early May, but both Ford and GM say medical gear production will continue. Ford says it has enough workers to do both while GM says it won’t need all factory workers right away because it plans a gradual restart.
Back at the Ford complex in Flat Rock, Michigan, where Parkhurst works, she’s hoping the respirators she’s helping to ship make their way to the hospital in nearby Dearborn, where nurses treated her mother with compassion before she died of a stroke about a year ago. She knows they must be “going through hell” now because the Detroit area one of the national hotspots for the virus.
“When I compared that to taking maybe a small risk and going in and making respirators, I feel all right,” she said.
____
AP Video Journalist Mike Householder contributed to this report from Warren, Michigan. This story has been corrected to show that Cindy Parkhurt’s mother died about one year ago, not 15 years ago.
All of the workers, he said, had to undergo a cultural change to make sure they stay more than 6 feet apart to protect themselves from possible contagion.
“It’s a hard habit to break when you’re typically up and talking to someone, pointing to a document,” Barber said. “People are very quick to point out ‘hey, you guys need to keep your distance.’”
Twenty-four UAW members have already died from COVID-19 but it’s unclear when or where they contracted the disease. Ford, GM and Toyota said they aren’t aware of any infections among workers who returned to make medical gear. Still, there’s no denying the risks are likely higher at the factories than in the safety of one’s home.
Full Coverage: Virus Outbreak
Joseph Holt, associate professor at Notre Dame’s business school who specializes in ethics and leadership, said the workers and their companies are examples of business doing its best to quickly fill a critical unmet need.
“Courage is doing what you think is right even when it might cost you,” Holt said. “Those workers being willing to go in to work to produce the medical equipment and personal protective gear, even at personal risk — that is moral courage in action.”
The Detroit automakers are trying to restart production on their vehicles, perhaps as soon as early May, but both Ford and GM say medical gear production will continue. Ford says it has enough workers to do both while GM says it won’t need all factory workers right away because it plans a gradual restart.
Back at the Ford complex in Flat Rock, Michigan, where Parkhurst works, she’s hoping the respirators she’s helping to ship make their way to the hospital in nearby Dearborn, where nurses treated her mother with compassion before she died of a stroke about a year ago. She knows they must be “going through hell” now because the Detroit area one of the national hotspots for the virus.
“When I compared that to taking maybe a small risk and going in and making respirators, I feel all right,” she said.
____
AP Video Journalist Mike Householder contributed to this report from Warren, Michigan. This story has been corrected to show that Cindy Parkhurt’s mother died about one year ago, not 15 years ago.
Brazil becoming coronavirus hot spot as testing falters
By DAVID BILLER, DIANE JEANTET AND LEO CORREA
1 of 13
A cemetery worker stands before the coffin containing the remains of Edenir Rezende Bessa, who is suspected to have died of COVID-19, as relatives attend her burial, in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, Wednesday, April 22, 2020. After visiting 3 primary care health units she was accepted in a hospital that treats new coronavirus cases, where she died on Tuesday. “People need to believe that this is serious, it kills", said her son Rodrigo Bessa who works at a hospital as nurse in the Espirito Santo state. (AP Photo/Leo Correa)
RIO DE JANEIRO (AP) — Cases of the new coronavirus are overwhelming hospitals, morgues and cemeteries across Brazil as Latin America’s largest nation veers closer to becoming one of the world’s pandemic hot spots.
Medical officials in Rio de Janeiro and at least four other major cities have warned that their hospital systems are on the verge of collapse, or already too overwhelmed to take any more patients.
Health experts expect the number of infections in the country of 211 million people will be much higher than what has been reported because of insufficient, delayed testing.
By DAVID BILLER, DIANE JEANTET AND LEO CORREA
1 of 13
A cemetery worker stands before the coffin containing the remains of Edenir Rezende Bessa, who is suspected to have died of COVID-19, as relatives attend her burial, in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, Wednesday, April 22, 2020. After visiting 3 primary care health units she was accepted in a hospital that treats new coronavirus cases, where she died on Tuesday. “People need to believe that this is serious, it kills", said her son Rodrigo Bessa who works at a hospital as nurse in the Espirito Santo state. (AP Photo/Leo Correa)
RIO DE JANEIRO (AP) — Cases of the new coronavirus are overwhelming hospitals, morgues and cemeteries across Brazil as Latin America’s largest nation veers closer to becoming one of the world’s pandemic hot spots.
Medical officials in Rio de Janeiro and at least four other major cities have warned that their hospital systems are on the verge of collapse, or already too overwhelmed to take any more patients.
Health experts expect the number of infections in the country of 211 million people will be much higher than what has been reported because of insufficient, delayed testing.
Meanwhile, President Jair Bolsonaro has shown no sign of wavering from his insistence that COVID-19 is a relatively minor disease and that broad social-distancing measures are not needed to stop it. He has said only Brazilians at high risk should be isolated.
In Manaus, the biggest city in the Amazon, officials said a cemetery has been forced to dig mass graves because there have been so many deaths. Workers have been burying 100 corpses a day — triple the pre-virus average of burials.
Ytalo Rodrigues, a 20-year-old driver for a funerary service provider in Manaus, said he had retrieved one body after another for more than 36 hours, without a break. There were so many deaths, his employer had to add a second hearse, Rodrigues said.
So far, the health ministry has confirmed nearly 53,000 COVID-19 cases and more than 3,600 deaths. By official counts, the country had its worst day yet on Thursday, with about 3,700 new cases and more than 400 deaths, and Friday was nearly as grim.
Experts warned that paltry testing means the true number of infections is far greater. And because it can take a long time for tests to be processed, the current numbers actually reflect deaths that happened one or two weeks ago, said Domingos Alves, adjunct professor of social medicine at the University of Sao Paulo, who is involved in the project.
“We are looking at a photo of the past,” Alves said in an interview last week. “The number of cases in Brazil is, therefore, probably even greater than what we are predicting.”
Scientists from the University of Sao Paulo, University of Brasilia and other institutions say the true number of people infected with the virus as of this week is probably as much as 587,000 to 1.1 million people.
The health ministry said in a report earlier this month that it has the capacity to test 6,700 people per day — a far cry from the roughly 40,000 it will need when the virus peaks.
“We should do many more tests than we’re doing, but the laboratory here is working at full steam,” said Keny Colares, an infectious disease specialist at the Hospital Sao Jose in northeastern Ceara state who has been advising state officials on the pandemic response.
Meanwhile, health care workers can barely handle the cases they have.
In Rio state, all but one of seven public hospitals equipped to treat COVID-19 are full and can only accept new patients once others have either recovered or died, according to the press office of the health secretariat. The sole facility with vacancy is located a two-hour drive from the capital’s center.
At the mouth of the Amazon, the city of Belem’s intensive-care beds are all occupied, according to online media outlet G1. As the number of cases rises in the capital of Para state, its health secretary said this week that at least 200 medical staff had been infected, and it is actively seeking to hire more doctors, G1 reported.
On Saturday, the city of Rio plans to open its first field hospital, with 200 beds, half reserved for intensive care. Another hospital erected beside the historic Maracana football stadium will offer 400 beds starting next month.
In Ceara’s capital, Fortaleza, state officials said Friday that intensive care units for COVID-19 patients were 92% full, after reaching capacity a week ago. Health experts and officials are particularly worried about the virus spreading into the poorest neighborhoods, or favelas, where people depend on public health care.
Edenir Bessa, a 65-year-old retiree from Rio’s working-class Mangueira favela, sought medical attention on April 20; she was turned away from two full urgent care units before gaining admission to a third located 40 kilometers (25 miles) away.
Hours later, she was transferred by ambulance almost all the way back, to the Ronaldo Gazzola hospital, according to her son, Rodrigo Bessa. Still, she died overnight, and he had to enter the hospital to identify her body.
“I saw a lot of bodies also suspected of (having) COVID-19 in the hospital’s basement,” said Bessa, a nurse at a hospital in another state.
The hospital released Edenir’s body with a diagnosis of suspected COVID-19, meaning that her death — like so many others — doesn’t figure into the government’s official tally. A small group of family members gathered for her burial on Wednesday, wearing face masks.
“People need to believe that this is serious, that it kills,” Bessa said.
Bolsonaro has continued to dismiss health officials’ dire predictions about the virus’s spread in the country. Last week, the president fired a health minister who had supported tough anti-virus measures and replaced him with an advocate for reopening the economy.
Bolsonaro’s stance largely echoes that of his counterpart and ally U.S. President Donald Trump, who has been stressing the need to put people back to work as unemployment figures reach Depression-era levels. Unlike Bolsonaro, however, Trump has moderated his skepticism about the virus.
The fight to reopen business “is a risk that I run,” Bolsonaro said at the swearing-in of his newly appointed health minister, Nelson Teich. If the pandemic escalates, Bolsonaro said, “it lands on my lap.”
In Manaus, the biggest city in the Amazon, officials said a cemetery has been forced to dig mass graves because there have been so many deaths. Workers have been burying 100 corpses a day — triple the pre-virus average of burials.
Ytalo Rodrigues, a 20-year-old driver for a funerary service provider in Manaus, said he had retrieved one body after another for more than 36 hours, without a break. There were so many deaths, his employer had to add a second hearse, Rodrigues said.
So far, the health ministry has confirmed nearly 53,000 COVID-19 cases and more than 3,600 deaths. By official counts, the country had its worst day yet on Thursday, with about 3,700 new cases and more than 400 deaths, and Friday was nearly as grim.
Experts warned that paltry testing means the true number of infections is far greater. And because it can take a long time for tests to be processed, the current numbers actually reflect deaths that happened one or two weeks ago, said Domingos Alves, adjunct professor of social medicine at the University of Sao Paulo, who is involved in the project.
“We are looking at a photo of the past,” Alves said in an interview last week. “The number of cases in Brazil is, therefore, probably even greater than what we are predicting.”
Scientists from the University of Sao Paulo, University of Brasilia and other institutions say the true number of people infected with the virus as of this week is probably as much as 587,000 to 1.1 million people.
The health ministry said in a report earlier this month that it has the capacity to test 6,700 people per day — a far cry from the roughly 40,000 it will need when the virus peaks.
“We should do many more tests than we’re doing, but the laboratory here is working at full steam,” said Keny Colares, an infectious disease specialist at the Hospital Sao Jose in northeastern Ceara state who has been advising state officials on the pandemic response.
Meanwhile, health care workers can barely handle the cases they have.
In Rio state, all but one of seven public hospitals equipped to treat COVID-19 are full and can only accept new patients once others have either recovered or died, according to the press office of the health secretariat. The sole facility with vacancy is located a two-hour drive from the capital’s center.
At the mouth of the Amazon, the city of Belem’s intensive-care beds are all occupied, according to online media outlet G1. As the number of cases rises in the capital of Para state, its health secretary said this week that at least 200 medical staff had been infected, and it is actively seeking to hire more doctors, G1 reported.
On Saturday, the city of Rio plans to open its first field hospital, with 200 beds, half reserved for intensive care. Another hospital erected beside the historic Maracana football stadium will offer 400 beds starting next month.
In Ceara’s capital, Fortaleza, state officials said Friday that intensive care units for COVID-19 patients were 92% full, after reaching capacity a week ago. Health experts and officials are particularly worried about the virus spreading into the poorest neighborhoods, or favelas, where people depend on public health care.
Edenir Bessa, a 65-year-old retiree from Rio’s working-class Mangueira favela, sought medical attention on April 20; she was turned away from two full urgent care units before gaining admission to a third located 40 kilometers (25 miles) away.
Hours later, she was transferred by ambulance almost all the way back, to the Ronaldo Gazzola hospital, according to her son, Rodrigo Bessa. Still, she died overnight, and he had to enter the hospital to identify her body.
“I saw a lot of bodies also suspected of (having) COVID-19 in the hospital’s basement,” said Bessa, a nurse at a hospital in another state.
The hospital released Edenir’s body with a diagnosis of suspected COVID-19, meaning that her death — like so many others — doesn’t figure into the government’s official tally. A small group of family members gathered for her burial on Wednesday, wearing face masks.
“People need to believe that this is serious, that it kills,” Bessa said.
Bolsonaro has continued to dismiss health officials’ dire predictions about the virus’s spread in the country. Last week, the president fired a health minister who had supported tough anti-virus measures and replaced him with an advocate for reopening the economy.
Bolsonaro’s stance largely echoes that of his counterpart and ally U.S. President Donald Trump, who has been stressing the need to put people back to work as unemployment figures reach Depression-era levels. Unlike Bolsonaro, however, Trump has moderated his skepticism about the virus.
The fight to reopen business “is a risk that I run,” Bolsonaro said at the swearing-in of his newly appointed health minister, Nelson Teich. If the pandemic escalates, Bolsonaro said, “it lands on my lap.”
Gaza factories roar back to life to make protective wear
By FARES AKRAM
In this Monday, March 30, 2020 file photo, Palestinians make protective overalls meant to shield people from the coronavirus, to be exported to Israel, at a local factory, in Gaza City. For the first time in years, some sewing factories in the Gaza Strip are back to working at full capacity — producing masks, gloves and protective gowns, some of which are bound for Israel.(AP Photo/Adel Hana, File)
GAZA CITY, Gaza Strip (AP) — For the first time in years, sewing factories in the Gaza Strip are back to working at full capacity — producing masks, gloves and protective gowns, some of which are bound for Israel.
It’s a rare economic lifeline in the coastal territory, which has been blockaded by Israel and Egypt since the Hamas militant group seized power from rival Palestinian forces in the strip in 2007. The blockade, and three wars between Hamas and Israel, have devastated the local economy, with unemployment hovering around 50%.
But the sudden opportunity also shows how Gaza’s economy is at the mercy of those enforcing the blockade — and how depressed wages have become. Workers earn as little as $8 a day.
So far, Gaza appears to have been largely spared from the coronavirus pandemic, with only 17 cases detected, all within quarantine facilities set up for those returning from abroad. Many still fear an outbreak in the impoverished territory, which is home to 2 million people and where the health care system has been battered by years of conflict. But for now, authorities are cautiously allowing most businesses to stay open.
Rizq al-Madhoun, owner of the Bahaa garment company, said he has produced more than 1 million masks in the past three weeks, “all for the Israeli market.”
Gaza may not have the advanced machinery seen in other places, but he said residents’ sewing skills are unmatched. “Gaza workers are distinguished in handiwork and they are better than workers in China or Turkey,” he said.
FILE- In this Monday, March 30, 2020 file photo, Palestinians make protective overalls meant to shield people from the coronavirus, to be exported to Israel, at a local factory, in Gaza City. For the first time in years, some sewing factories in the Gaza Strip are back to working at full capacity — producing masks, gloves and protective gowns, some of which are bound for Israel. (AP Photo/Adel Hana, File)
Another factory, Unipal 2000, is able to employ 800 workers across two shifts to produce protective equipment around the clock.
Both factories import fabric and other materials from customers in Israel and then produce items like masks, gloves and surgical gowns. Unipal makes about 150,000 pieces a day, and demand is high as countries around the world grapple with shortages.
Asked about doing business with Israeli customers, both factory owners said they did not want to discuss politics and framed their work in terms of business and humanitarian needs.
“Despite the siege in Gaza, we export these masks and protective clothes to the whole world without exception,” Bashir Bawab, the owner of Unipal 2000, said. “We feel we are doing a humanitarian duty.”
In recent years, Tamer Emad, a skilled textile worker, was able to work one week per month at best. But over the past month, he has been on the Unipal factory floor every day, earning around $8 per shift.
“This has provided us with a good opportunity ahead of Ramadan,” he said, referring to the Muslim holy month, which began Thursday, when families traditionally splurge on food and shopping.
Such wages are typical in the depressed Gazan economy, but would barely keep a family afloat. It costs around $250 a month to rent a two-bedroom apartment.
Omar Shaban, an economist who heads a local think tank, said the conditions created by the blockade allow for “exploitation,” but that low-wage jobs still provide income for many people.
Unipal 2000 first opened in an industrial zone along the frontier in 1998, when the peace process was in full swing. But like many other Gaza businesses, it was forced to shut down after the Hamas takeover and the blockade. Israel says the blockade is needed to prevent Hamas, an Islamic militant group that opposes Israel’s existence, from arming itself.
Israel began easing some restrictions after the 2014 Gaza war, and the factory reopened two years later. But by then most of its clients had found suppliers elsewhere, so it only operated intermittently.
Its fortunes could change again — especially if there is an outbreak.
Gisha, an Israeli group that advocates for easing the blockade on Gaza, appealed to Israeli leaders to do more to promote economic activity in the territory.
“The pandemic has created demand for these products,” it said. “But Israel must lift restrictions on trade entirely so that Gaza residents can work and so that Gaza’s faltering economy can brace itself as much as possible against the wider global crisis caused by the pandemic.”
The virus causes mild to moderate flu-like symptoms in most patients, who recover within a few weeks. But it is highly contagious and can cause severe illness or death, particularly in older patients or those with underlying conditions.
Israel has reported more than 14,800 cases and nearly 200 deaths. The Palestinian Authority, which governs parts of the occupied West Bank, has reported around 260 cases and two deaths. Both imposed strict lockdowns more than a month ago.
“Because of the global shortages, we are trying to provide a resupply with alternatives from the local market,” said Mohammed Attar, of Glia team in Gaza.
The initiative currently produces 30 face shields a day and hopes to one day export them.
By FARES AKRAM
In this Monday, March 30, 2020 file photo, Palestinians make protective overalls meant to shield people from the coronavirus, to be exported to Israel, at a local factory, in Gaza City. For the first time in years, some sewing factories in the Gaza Strip are back to working at full capacity — producing masks, gloves and protective gowns, some of which are bound for Israel.(AP Photo/Adel Hana, File)
GAZA CITY, Gaza Strip (AP) — For the first time in years, sewing factories in the Gaza Strip are back to working at full capacity — producing masks, gloves and protective gowns, some of which are bound for Israel.
It’s a rare economic lifeline in the coastal territory, which has been blockaded by Israel and Egypt since the Hamas militant group seized power from rival Palestinian forces in the strip in 2007. The blockade, and three wars between Hamas and Israel, have devastated the local economy, with unemployment hovering around 50%.
But the sudden opportunity also shows how Gaza’s economy is at the mercy of those enforcing the blockade — and how depressed wages have become. Workers earn as little as $8 a day.
So far, Gaza appears to have been largely spared from the coronavirus pandemic, with only 17 cases detected, all within quarantine facilities set up for those returning from abroad. Many still fear an outbreak in the impoverished territory, which is home to 2 million people and where the health care system has been battered by years of conflict. But for now, authorities are cautiously allowing most businesses to stay open.
Rizq al-Madhoun, owner of the Bahaa garment company, said he has produced more than 1 million masks in the past three weeks, “all for the Israeli market.”
Gaza may not have the advanced machinery seen in other places, but he said residents’ sewing skills are unmatched. “Gaza workers are distinguished in handiwork and they are better than workers in China or Turkey,” he said.
FILE- In this Monday, March 30, 2020 file photo, Palestinians make protective overalls meant to shield people from the coronavirus, to be exported to Israel, at a local factory, in Gaza City. For the first time in years, some sewing factories in the Gaza Strip are back to working at full capacity — producing masks, gloves and protective gowns, some of which are bound for Israel. (AP Photo/Adel Hana, File)
Another factory, Unipal 2000, is able to employ 800 workers across two shifts to produce protective equipment around the clock.
Both factories import fabric and other materials from customers in Israel and then produce items like masks, gloves and surgical gowns. Unipal makes about 150,000 pieces a day, and demand is high as countries around the world grapple with shortages.
Asked about doing business with Israeli customers, both factory owners said they did not want to discuss politics and framed their work in terms of business and humanitarian needs.
“Despite the siege in Gaza, we export these masks and protective clothes to the whole world without exception,” Bashir Bawab, the owner of Unipal 2000, said. “We feel we are doing a humanitarian duty.”
In recent years, Tamer Emad, a skilled textile worker, was able to work one week per month at best. But over the past month, he has been on the Unipal factory floor every day, earning around $8 per shift.
“This has provided us with a good opportunity ahead of Ramadan,” he said, referring to the Muslim holy month, which began Thursday, when families traditionally splurge on food and shopping.
Such wages are typical in the depressed Gazan economy, but would barely keep a family afloat. It costs around $250 a month to rent a two-bedroom apartment.
Omar Shaban, an economist who heads a local think tank, said the conditions created by the blockade allow for “exploitation,” but that low-wage jobs still provide income for many people.
Unipal 2000 first opened in an industrial zone along the frontier in 1998, when the peace process was in full swing. But like many other Gaza businesses, it was forced to shut down after the Hamas takeover and the blockade. Israel says the blockade is needed to prevent Hamas, an Islamic militant group that opposes Israel’s existence, from arming itself.
Israel began easing some restrictions after the 2014 Gaza war, and the factory reopened two years later. But by then most of its clients had found suppliers elsewhere, so it only operated intermittently.
Its fortunes could change again — especially if there is an outbreak.
Gisha, an Israeli group that advocates for easing the blockade on Gaza, appealed to Israeli leaders to do more to promote economic activity in the territory.
“The pandemic has created demand for these products,” it said. “But Israel must lift restrictions on trade entirely so that Gaza residents can work and so that Gaza’s faltering economy can brace itself as much as possible against the wider global crisis caused by the pandemic.”
The virus causes mild to moderate flu-like symptoms in most patients, who recover within a few weeks. But it is highly contagious and can cause severe illness or death, particularly in older patients or those with underlying conditions.
Israel has reported more than 14,800 cases and nearly 200 deaths. The Palestinian Authority, which governs parts of the occupied West Bank, has reported around 260 cases and two deaths. Both imposed strict lockdowns more than a month ago.
Elsewhere in Gaza, a startup has produced hundreds of medical face shields using 3D printers.
The Glia project, established by Tarek Loubani, a Palestinian physician based in Canada, has previously used 3D printers to produce inexpensive stethoscopes in the isolated territory. Last year it produced tourniquets for first responders to treat Palestinians shot and wounded by Israeli forces during weekly protests along the frontier.
“Because of the global shortages, we are trying to provide a resupply with alternatives from the local market,” said Mohammed Attar, of Glia team in Gaza.
The initiative currently produces 30 face shields a day and hopes to one day export them.
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