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      Emerging From Covid, Small Theaters in Los Angeles Face a New Challenge

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      A state law threatens to drive up labor costs for the city’s hand-to-mouth small theater scene as it tries to emerge from the pandemic.LOS ANGELES — “And here she is, in all her glory.”With a clank of a switch, Gary Grossman, the artistic director of the Skylight Theater Company in Los Angeles, turned up the lights over the 99 seats of his shoe box of a theater in Los Feliz the other morning. The Skylight looked pretty much the way it did when it abruptly shut down in March of 2020. Planks of scenery from its last production, “West Adams,” were gathering dust, leaned up against the rear of the stage.Concert halls, arenas, movie houses, baseball stadiums and big theaters are reopening here and across the country as the pandemic begins to recede. But for many of the 325 small nonprofit theater companies scattered across Los Angeles, like the Skylight, that day is still months away, and their future is as uncertain as ever.“How long will it be until we get back to where we were?” Grossman asked, his voice echoing across the empty theater that was founded in 1983. “I think three to five years.”This network of intimate theaters, none bigger than 99 seats, is a vibrant subculture of experimentation and tradition in Los Angeles, often overlooked in the glitter of the film and television industry. But it is confronting two challenges as it tries to climb back after the lengthy shutdown: uncertainty as to when theatergoers will be ready to cram into small black boxes with poor ventilation, and a 2020 state law, initially intended to help gig workers such as Uber drivers, that stands to substantially drive up labor costs for many of these organizations.The new gig worker law mandates that all theaters, regardless of size, pay minimum wage — which is ramping up to $15 an hour in California — plus payroll taxes, workers’ compensation and unemployment insurance. While some unionized theaters paid a minimum wage before, many had exemptions from Actors’ Equity which allowed them to pay stipends that typically ranged from $9 to $25 for each rehearsal or performance.Producers say the new state law means expenses for many small theaters will climb steeply at an exceptionally fragile moment for the industry.“Small performing arts organizations are on the verge of disappearing in California,” said Martha Demson, the board president of the Theatrical Producers League of Los Angeles. “It’s an existential crisis. We had the 15 months of Covid. But also now the California employment laws; to remain good employers we have to hire all of our employees as full-time employees.”Many organizations have survived these past months with government grants, support from donors and breaks from landlords. But Demson said some theaters that were forced to turn off the lights may never be able to return in this difficult environment.The Fountain Theater held outdoor performances of “An Octoroon.”Philip Cheung for The New York TimesIt has all added to an atmosphere of anxiety for a part of Los Angeles that has often felt a bit like a cultural stepchild. For all its growth and accolades, and its importance to actors looking for a place to work or stay sharp between roles in movies or on television, the theater scene has been too often overlooked. There is no central district of small theaters, as there is in many cities: They are scattered across North Hollywood, Atwater Village, Westwood, a stretch of Santa Monica Boulevard in Hollywood, Culver City and downtown Los Angeles.“Reminding the public that intimate theater not only exists but is essential to a well-balanced life in L.A. has been a challenge for decades,” said Stephen Sachs, the co-artistic director of the Fountain Theater. “We are always up against the goliath of the film and television industry.”Danny Glover, an actor who began his career on small stages in Los Angeles and San Francisco and was a co-founder of the Robey Theater Company in Los Angeles, described the theater scene as central to his own success.“Something happened in those small places with 50 people in there that opened me up in different ways, that made me realize there was something I could say in front of a camera or in front of a stage,” Glover said in an interview. “I’ve seen actors in a small theater, whether it’s in San Francisco or L.A., the next thing they are on their way to a career. That doesn’t often happen with the kind of pressures that are there when you are in a theater for profit.”Intimate theaters operate hand-to-mouth. Only 19 of the 325 small theaters have budgets over $1 million, and those account for 83 percent of the combined revenue of the entire sector, according to the Theatrical Producers League.“We are always underfunded,” said Taylor Gilbert, the founder of the Road Theater Company. “Live theater is not the best of models for making money.”Many theaters operated on the margins even before the pandemic; now producers worry about when audiences will feel safe returning. With the highly contagious Delta variant spreading, Los Angeles County health authorities recently recommended that people resume wearing masks at indoor venues.Demson, the producing artistic director of the Open Fist Theater Company, estimated the new law, which took effect just before California shut down, would add $193,500 in labor costs to her company’s annual budget, which now varies between $200,000 and $250,000.Many industries have responded to the bill, known as AB5, by lobbying Sacramento for exemptions. But there is little support for that in this theater community, which tends to be politically progressive.“It puts another financial burden on already strapped small companies,” Gilbert said. “At the same time we all support the idea that an artist should get a living wage. That’s the conundrum.”Actors’ Equity has come out strongly against exempting its members from the law, instead pushing for financial assistance from state and federal government to help theaters get back on their feet.“We think it’s a bad idea to have an exemption,” said Gail Gabler, the western regional director of Actors’ Equity. “We all want the same thing, We want the theater to open. It’s important for our economy and it’s important for our souls and it’s important for the actors who work in theater. But we want our actors to be fairly paid and work in safe conditions.”As a result, theater leaders are pressing lawmakers in Sacramento for legislation that would provide aid to help theaters cover the explosion of costs. There are two main initiatives: A one-time $50 million subsidy included in the state budget for struggling small theaters, and another that would set up a state agency to handle the cost of processing the new payroll requirements.But some small theater operators say that those bills would not do enough.“The financial subsidies would be great if they were written as a long-term sustaining line item in the California state budget,” said Tim Robbins, the Academy Award-winning actor and artistic director of the Actors’ Gang, a small theater in Culver City. “The real question is what happens next year when there are no financial subsidies left and the new precedents for nonprofits has been established?”The Fountain transformed its parking lot into an outdoor theater.Philip Cheung for The New York Times“For me the essential question is how AB5 went from a bill meant to address the nonprotection of gig workers (Lyft and Uber, etc.) to a bill that is bullying nonprofit theater companies?” he asked in an email.Susan Rubio, the Democratic California senator who is sponsoring the bill to set up a state agency and pushing for the $50 million subsidy, argued her approach would help the industry survive these challenging times.“Many have concerns and will continue to have concerns,” she said in an interview. “But California prides itself in taking care of its workers.”Grossman said he is hopeful that the Skylight will begin live performances by the fall. But other theaters are not as optimistic.Jon Lawrence Rivera, the founding artistic director of Playwrights’ Arena, which only produces the work of Los Angeles writers, said he was resigned to a difficult few years. Before the crisis, the Arena would fill 90 percent of its 50 seats. “Now, I’m thinking 30 to 40 percent capacity at the most,” he said.Most ominously, he worries that emergency grants will dry up as things return to normal.“The resources that we have been able to accumulate will disappear within two or three shows,” he said.The pressure to open is intense. The Hollywood Bowl staged its first public shows at the beginning of July, and in August, “Hamilton” is coming back to the Pantages Theater, with 2,700 seats, in Hollywood.Some theaters took advantage of the California climate and headed outside. The Wallis Center for Performing Arts in Beverly Hills recently reopened with a show on a pop-up outdoor theater it built on a terrace — “Tevye in New York!”The Fountain Theater, which has 80 seats, transformed its parking lot into an outdoor theater, and opened last month with “An Octoroon.” Bright red bushes of blooming bougainvillea offered a lush wall on one side of the seating area as cars buzzed by on Fountain Avenue and the occasional helicopter rumbled overhead. “Mufflers!” grimaced Rob Nagle, one of the actors, without breaking out of character, as a particularly deafening motorcycle roared by.There seems to be a resignation that many small theaters will face a hard time. “We know once the smoke clears some of them won’t be reopening,” said Mitch O’Farrell, a member of the Los Angeles City Council whose district includes many of the theaters.But Grossman said for all the concern — and the likelihood that some theaters would not reopen — he was confident that in the end, this scrappy culture would survive. “We are like cockroaches,” he said. “You’re never going to get us. We are going to sustain. But it’s going to be tough.” More

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      in Movies

      A Film Tries to Make a Difference for Domestic Violence Survivors

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      “And So I Stayed” examines how the courts treat women who kill their abusers. The movie played a role in one case that resulted in freedom after a conviction.In 2013, Tanisha Davis, a 26-year-old woman from Rochester, N.Y., was sentenced to 14 years in prison for killing her boyfriend, at whose hands she suffered, she said, nearly seven years of abuse, including choking, death threats and a beating on the night he died. The judge agreed that she was a victim of domestic violence but said her response did not merit leniency. “You handled the situation all wrong,” he told her. “You could have left.”In 2021, because of a new law that allows survivors of domestic violence more nuanced consideration in the courts, the same judge released Davis, thanks in part to a documentary that helped frame her case.It’s not uncommon for documentary projects to have an impact on legal proceedings, once they’ve found an audience and built public attention. But the film that helped Davis, “And So I Stayed,” was not yet released — it wasn’t even finished — when the filmmakers, Natalie Pattillo and Daniel A. Nelson, put together a short video for the court, describing her life.“You could see the strength of the ties she had to her family and the strength of the support she would have” if she were released, said Angela N. Ellis, one of her lawyers. The prosecutor and judge both mentioned watching the footage when they agreed, in March, to set her free.In her eight years in prison, Davis, 34, spoke to her son, now 15, every day. Now that she’s home, “I can just call him in the next room,” she said. “I can’t even explain that joy. I cry happy tears all the time.”For the filmmakers, it was an unexpectedly bright ending to an often heartbreaking and troubling film. “And So I Stayed,” which will have its premiere Saturday at the Brooklyn Film Festival (viewable online through June 13), is personal for Pattillo, who is a survivor herself and whose sister was killed by a boyfriend in 2010. The documentary grew out of her thesis project at Columbia Journalism School, where she met Nelson, her co-director.The filmmaker Natalie Pattillo is a domestic-violence survivor.Gwen Capistran“I didn’t realize how common it was, the gravity of women being incarcerated for defending themselves or their children,” Pattillo said. “Once I found out, I couldn’t stop reporting,” in an effort to show just how misunderstood, and punitive, these cases are within the justice system.The film’s first focus was Kim Dadou Brown, who served 17 years in prison for killing her abusive boyfriend. She became an advocate, traveling to Albany to needle New York lawmakers about the Domestic Violence Survivors Justice Act, the long-simmering legislation that eventually helped free Davis. Introduced in 2011, it was finally passed in 2019, after Democrats flipped the State Senate.The act is among the few laws in the country that grant judges more leniency in sentencing domestic violence victims who commit crimes against their abusers. It follows a growing, research-backed understanding of the patterns of abusive relationships, and the unique hold they have on people within them.“Leaving is the hardest part,” and the most dangerous, Dadou Brown said. “I thought that all men hit, and so I stayed with mine, so I knew which way the blows would come.”After Dadou Brown, a Rochester native and former health-care worker, was paroled in 2008, she volunteered with survivors and crisscrossed the state for rallies — even when money was tight because her felony status made jobs hard to find, she said. With 17 earrings (one for each year of her incarceration) and her signature false eyelashes, “she’s just a force,” Pattillo said. “It’s pure tenacity. That’s Kim.”Dadou Brown has become a fierce advocate for the Domestic Violence Survivors Justice Act, which was finally passed in 2019.Libby March for The New York TimesWhen the bill passed, there was elation among its supporters and the filmmakers. But they kept their cameras rolling.One case that was considered a surefire test of the act was that of Nicole Addimando, a young mother of two in Poughkeepsie, N.Y., who in 2017 fatally shot Christopher Grover, her live-in boyfriend and the children’s father. The film includes police camera footage of that night, when she was found disoriented and driving around in the wee hours, her 4- and 2-year-olds in the back seat.Her case made national headlines because of the severity of the abuse she said she endured: bites and black eyes; bruises and burns to her body, including while she was pregnant, that were documented by medical professionals; rapes that Grover videotaped and uploaded to a porn site. In the film, a social worker calls it not just assault, but “sexual torture.” In 2020, Addimando was sentenced to 19 years to life for second-degree manslaughter; the judge denied that the survivors justice act was applicable.“I felt like we failed her,” said Dadou Brown, who was at the sentencing.The film looks at the case of Nicole Addimando, who was sentenced to 19 years to life for killing her abuser. A judge ruled that the new law didn’t apply to her.Daniel A. NelsonIn the film, Addimando is heard mostly as a voice on the phone from prison; in one call, her mother tries to console her that at least she’s alive, that she escaped the abuse. “I’m still not free,” she replies, weeping.Though there are no nationwide statistics on the number of women incarcerated after defending themselves against abusers, federal research suggests that about half of the women in prison have experienced past physical abuse or sexual violence, a majority from romantic partners. Black women are disproportionately victimized through both intimate partner violence and the justice system: They are the most likely to be killed by a romantic partner and more likely to end up in prison, according to Bernadine Waller, a scholar at Adelphi University.In bringing stories like these to the screen, said Nelson, the filmmaker, the aim was not to dispute who pulled a trigger, but to contextualize those convicted. “The legal system forces you to create the perfect victim,” he said, “and a prosecutor will do everything in their power to characterize a survivor into not fitting into that box.” (In Addimando’s case, the judge said she “reluctantly consented” to the sexual abuse.)Garrard Beeney, a lawyer for Addimando, who is awaiting a decision on her appeal, said the documentary’s examination of the way the judicial system treats survivors is “a necessary, but I also think, not sufficient step,” in changing the process. Police, prosecutors, and judges have to be educated on how to think about domestic violence, he said. “We need that kind of retraining more immediately than a gradual process of understanding.”Dadou Brown being filmed by Julian Lim, center, and Daniel A. Nelson. The film grew out of a thesis project. Natalie Pattillo/Grit PicturesFor Pattillo, who had two of her three children while making the film, some moments felt overwhelmingly raw. “There’s survivor’s guilt, always, when you’re dealing with trauma,” she said, adding, in reference to Addimando, “Why did I get to be OK and not Nikki? Why do her kids not get to be tucked in by her every night?”But it was also “very healing,” she added, “to have a hand in making sure the survivors feel seen and heard and believed through this film.”It originally ended on a dark note, at a vigil for Addimando. Then came the Davis case. The filmmakers were there on the day she was released from Bedford Hills Correctional Facility. Reacclimating to life outside — during a pandemic — is still challenging, Davis said last week. But she wanted her story told as a warning for victims, and a beacon. The filmmakers plan to make the documentary available to those in the legal system — “a tool kit,” Nelson said, on how to employ the new law.Dadou Brown was also at Bedford Hills; she drove Davis’s family there. Her advocacy, Dadou Brown said, had become her life’s calling. “I feel so fortunate to have so many dream-come-true moments,” she said. “Even coming home from prison. My next dream-come-true moment will be bringing Nikki home.” More

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      in Television

      How ViacomCBS's Content Deals Cost U.S. Taxpayers $4 Billion

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      A new report details ViacomCBS’s use of a labyrinthine tax shelter to sell rights to its shows and films overseas.Dismissed by critics and devoured by fans, “Transformers: Age of Extinction” was the top box office film in 2014, bringing in $1.1 billion, with more than three-quarters of those dollars coming from overseas. More

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      in Television

      Shows Like ‘Cops’ Fell Out of Favor. Now Texas May Ban Them.

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      Lawmakers passed a bill named for Javier Ambler II, who died in 2019 after officers arrested him in front of a “Live PD” television crew. If the governor signs it, this would mean the end of police cooperation with reality TV shows.Two years ago, a television crew gathered in the small city of Hawkins, Texas, to film the life and work of Manfred Gilow, the chief of police there.Cameras followed Chief Gilow as he and his officers responded to calls, snapped handcuffs onto wrists and searched vehicles for drugs. The program was not available on Texas televisions; Chief Gilow is from Germany, and that is where “Der Germinator” (a portmanteau of “German” and “The Terminator”) was broadcast.Last year, after the nationally broadcast policing shows “Cops” and “Live PD” were canceled, “Der Germinator” filmed a second season. But prospects for a third may have dimmed last week, when the Texas Legislature passed a bill that would make it illegal for law enforcement agencies to authorize reality television crews to film officers on duty.“Policing is not entertainment,” said James Talarico, the Democratic state representative who introduced the legislation. The office of Gov. Greg Abbott, a Republican, did not respond to requests for comment this week about whether he would sign the legislation.Reality law enforcement shows, Mr. Talarico said, “rely on violent encounters between citizens and the police to boost their own ratings.” He cited an investigation by The Austin American-Statesman, which reported last year that law enforcement officers in Williamson County, Texas, were more violent when the “Live PD” cameras were rolling.The bill, which the Legislature passed with bipartisan support on May 13, is named after Javier Ambler II, a 40-year-old father of two who died in 2019 after Williamson County officers forcibly arrested him in front of a “Live PD” camera crew.Mr. Ambler’s sister, Kimberly Ambler-Jones, 39, said she believed that her brother would still be alive if the television crews had not been filming. “Because they had ‘Live PD’ there, it had to be hyped up,” she said. “It had to be drama.”That show was taken off the air in June. So was “Cops,” which had beamed arrests, confrontations and car chases to televisions across the United States for decades.The cancellations came amid nationwide protests over the police killing of George Floyd in Minneapolis. They also followed years of campaigning by the racial justice organization Color of Change, which had been pushing networks to drop “Cops” since at least 2013.Arisha Hatch, the organization’s vice president and chief of campaigns, said the shows were one-sided and served as propaganda for law enforcement.“They violate the civil liberties of people who are forced to become the stars of the show,” she said. “They operate to make a joke about how Black communities and poor communities are overpoliced.”Ms. Hatch welcomed the Texas bill, noting that the state-level legislative approach appeared to be without precedent.But with two flagship policing programs already canceled, it is unclear whether the law would have any immediate effect if approved by Governor Abbott.A reality series set in Texas called “Lone Star Law,” on Animal Planet, could most likely continue filming as long as it keeps its focus on wildlife and game wardens, Mr. Talarico said.“Der Germinator,” on the other hand, could be at risk.Chief Gilow argued that the program should be allowed to continue, characterizing it as more of a documentary than a reality show. He said it offered German viewers a glimpse of life in the United States, as well as a cautionary tale about the consequences of crime.“I think it is positive,” Chief Gilow said. “But you will have some people just hating it because they hate the police.” He added that the show did not violate anyone’s rights and blurred the faces of people who did not consent to be filmed.Police body cameras captured the 2019 arrest of Javier Ambler II. Crews from “Live PD” were also filming, but their footage was never broadcast.Austin Police Department, via Associated PressMs. Ambler-Jones said she hoped that Mr. Abbott would sign the bill — and that similar legislation would spread beyond Texas.“I know people feel like this is just entertainment,” she said of reality policing programs. “But you don’t understand what the person on the other side of that camera is dealing with.”For months after Mr. Ambler’s death, his family did not know what had happened to him — only that he had died in law enforcement custody. The details became public last year, after The Austin American-Statesman and the news outlet KVUE obtained body camera footage.Mr. Ambler was driving in the Austin area on March 28, 2019, when Williamson County deputies tried to stop him because he did not dim his headlights to traffic, officials said. After deputies tried to pull Mr. Ambler over, the authorities said, he kept driving for more than 20 minutes before crashing his vehicle.The body camera footage showed that the officers restrained Mr. Ambler and used a Taser on him multiple times. “I have congestive heart failure,” Mr. Ambler could be heard saying. “I can’t breathe.”Mr. Ambler was taken to a hospital, where he was pronounced dead. “Live PD” footage of the arrest was never broadcast on television.Since then, Williamson County officials have faced several lawsuits related to reality television footage. Two deputies were indicted on second-degree manslaughter charges in Mr. Ambler’s death, and the former county sheriff, who lost his seat after a November election, was indicted on charges of evidence tampering. All have pleaded not guilty.A spokeswoman for Williamson County declined to comment because of pending litigation. Big Fish Entertainment, the production company behind “Live PD,” did not immediately respond to emailed questions.Mr. Talarico said he hoped the legislation, if signed into law by the governor, would keep “Cops” and “Live PD” out of Texas for good. “Without the force of law, there’s nothing preventing these shows from coming back,” he said, “except for their own conscience.” More

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      After 'Tiger King,' Law Proposed to Protect Big Cats

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      The Big Cat Public Safety Act has been introduced before, but a bipartisan group of lawmakers hopes the public outcry from the Netflix documentary series will finally help it become law.The former roadside zoo owner known as Joe Exotic, Joseph Maldonado-Passage, remains in prison. The animal rights activist he was convicted of trying to kill, Carole Baskin, was given control of his old zoo in Oklahoma.But one year after the premiere of the Netflix series “Tiger King,” an unexpected quarantine binge hit that focused on their feud and the cutthroat world of roadside zoos, big cats remain unprotected from the exploitative practices the series helped reveal.Now, a bipartisan group of United States senators has introduced the latest version of a bill designed to keep unlicensed individuals from owning tigers and other big cats and forbid zoo owners from letting the public pet the animals or hold cubs.Senator Richard Blumenthal, a Democrat from Connecticut, introduced the Big Cat Safety Act last year, but it did not make it to the floor for a vote. Mr. Blumenthal said he was hopeful that with Democrats in control and some Republicans already supportive of the legislation, this is the year the bill will finally clear the Senate.“What I’ve seen is a groundswell of support,” Mr. Blumenthal said on Tuesday. “I don’t want to overstate it, but it really seems like an idea whose time has come.”Two Republicans, Senators Susan Collins of Maine and Richard Burr of North Carolina, agreed to introduce the bill on Monday with Mr. Blumenthal and Senator Tom Carper, a Delaware Democrat.“Big cats like lions, tigers, and cheetahs belong in their natural habitats, not in the hands of private owners where they are too often subject to cruelty or improper care,” Ms. Collins said in a statement.The bill is similar to legislation that Representative Mike Quigley, Democrat of Illinois, introduced in 2020.That bill, which would have allowed breeding and transporting of big cats only by educational facilities, and wildlife sanctuaries and zoos that restrict direct contact between animals and the public, had 230 sponsors and was passed by the House in December.Sara Amundson, president of the Humane Society Legislative Fund, said the Big Cat Safety Act had the support of law enforcement organizations and dozens of zoos and sanctuaries, giving it “significant momentum.”“Whether it’s Joe Exotic, Doc Antle or Joe Blow, we can’t permit private individuals to keep big cats captive for pleasure or profit,” she said in a statement. “These operations endanger the public and produce the worst possible fate for the animals involved.”Under Mr. Blumenthal’s bill, it would be illegal for a private individual to transport big cats across state lines, breed them or own them. Zoos, sanctuaries and other exhibitors and organizations that are licensed by the Department of Agriculture or by a federal facility registered with the department would be exempt. Under the bill, no zoo or exhibitor could allow direct contact between members of the public and the animals.The law already requires all zoos to be licensed federally, according to Mr. Blumenthal’s office.Ms. Baskin’s organization, Big Cat Rescue, has long pushed for the Big Cat Safety Act, which was first introduced in 2012. The organization has been calling for a ban on cub petting for more than 20 years.“There is almost nothing more adorable than a tiger cub, and it’s very understandable if you don’t know the back story to want to pet a tiger cub and take a picture with it,” said Howard Baskin, Ms. Baskin’s husband and the treasurer and secretary of Big Cat Rescue. “It’s a miserable life for the cub.”The documentary was criticized by conservation groups and animal rights activists for not focusing enough on the abusive practices of roadside zoos and instead playing up salacious details, including the mystery around the disappearance of Ms. Baskin’s first husband.More tigers live in captivity in backyards, roadside zoos and truck stops in the United States than remain in the wild, according to the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service.Before his arrest and conviction, Mr. Maldonado-Passage was a major breeder and seller of tigers and other big cats, who churned out cubs for profitable petting and photo sessions. When they became too big and dangerous for play, he disposed of them.Some were sold as pets to private buyers and others went to other roadside zoos for breeding. Some simply disappeared.The documentary’s footage of baby cubs being ripped from their mothers so they could be petted by the public shocked many viewers. Since then, state legislators have introduced their own version of bills that would ban such practices.Keith Evans, president of the Lion Habitat Ranch in Las Vegas, which has 31 big cats, said he was worried that legislators have become too reactionary and that the new laws being passed around the country could create bureaucratic entanglements that would punish responsible zoo owners.“The way some of the bills are worded, they’re wide open to interpretation,” he said. “There are enough rules on the books that if they just enforce them it would make everybody happy.”Mr. Blumenthal said the bill he introduced was meant to protect big cats from cruel and dangerous practices, not hamstring responsible zoos and sanctuaries.He said the bill had been referred to the Environment and Public Works Committee, which Mr. Carper chairs.“My focus is on preventing abuse and exploitation of the big cats and safeguarding the public,” Mr. Blumenthal said. “Those two goals are paramount.” More

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      in Music

      Dolly Parton Statue Has Tennessee’s Support, but Not Parton’s

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      AdvertisementContinue reading the main storySupported byContinue reading the main storyDolly Parton Statue Has Tennessee’s Support, but Not Parton’sThe state legislature was considering a bill that would kick off plans to erect the statue on Capitol grounds. She has asked that the bill be pulled.“Given all that is going on in the world, I don’t think putting me on a pedestal is appropriate at this time,” Parton said in a statement.Credit…Robyn Beck/Agence France-Presse — Getty ImagesFeb. 18, 2021, 2:14 p.m. ETIt was something that Democrats and Republicans in Nashville could agree on: a statue of the country music legend Dolly Parton on the grounds of the State Capitol.The only problem? It doesn’t have Parton’s vote.The singer released a statement on Thursday asking the Tennessee General Assembly to pull a bill that would have started the process for commissioning a statue of her.“Given all that is going on in the world, I don’t think putting me on a pedestal is appropriate at this time,” Parton said in the statement, which was posted on Twitter and Instagram.A monument to Parton gained support during a debate over whether to remove the bust of Nathan Bedford Forrest, a former Confederate general, slave trader and leader of the Ku Klux Klan, from the Tennessee State Capitol. In 2019, a Republican House leader, Representative Jeremy Faison, suggested Parton as a potential replacement for the Forrest bronze; in January, a Democratic legislator, Representative John Mark Windle, introduced a bill to initiate plans for the statue on Capitol grounds. According to the bill, the statue would be positioned to face Ryman Auditorium, a storied country music venue.In her statement, Parton, 75, left the option open for a statue to be erected in the future, writing, “I hope, though, that somewhere down the road several years from now or perhaps after I’m gone if you still feel I deserve it, then I’m certain I will stand proud in our great State Capitol as a grateful Tennessean.”The singer was being considered for her role in country music history, her philanthropy and her strong Tennessee roots. (She was born in Sevierville, Tenn., or as she likes to say, “the foothills of the Great Smoky Mountains.”) It helped that Parton has long kept her political opinions to herself, saying in the 2019 podcast series “Dolly Parton’s America” that she avoided the subject because “I have too many fans on both sides of the fence.”Representative Windle’s office did not immediately respond to a request for comment on whether he planned to remove the bill from consideration. The bill was scheduled to be considered by a House committee on Tuesday.On social media, Parton’s statement asking for the monument plans to be put aside drew plaudits from fans and fellow musicians who called her a “national treasure,” making some even more confident that the singer was deserving of such a tribute.AdvertisementContinue reading the main story More

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      What Defines Domestic Abuse? Survivors Say It’s More Than Assault

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      AdvertisementContinue reading the main storySupported byContinue reading the main storyWhat Defines Domestic Abuse? Survivors Say It’s More Than AssaultThe Congresswoman Cori Bush and the musician FKA twigs describe how manipulative, isolating conduct known as “coercive control” helped trap them in abusive relationships. Lawmakers are starting to listen.Congresswoman Cori Bush of Missouri has been sharing her story as a survivor of domestic abuse to help “normalize the conversation.”Credit…Whitney Curtis for The New York TimesMelena Ryzik and Jan. 22, 2021Updated 5:16 p.m. ETIt was, at first, the kind of dreamily romantic attention that Cori Bush craved. She was 19 or so, barely making ends meet working at a preschool, and a new boyfriend was spooning on affection. He lavished her with gifts, too. “He would spoil me, he would spoil my friends, my sister — whoever was near me,” she said.But quickly, she said, the high-watt beam of his attentiveness became an unyielding glare. He monopolized her time and curbed her independence.“He would answer my phone,” Ms. Bush said. “I thought it was cute at first — he wanted to answer my phone and talk to my friends. But then it turned into him screening my calls.”When she tried to end things, he hit her, she said. It was the first of many instances in which he was physically violent. “He would pinch me so hard, he would take off not only skin, but flesh,” she said. “He would cut me with knives, box cutters.” She couldn’t leave, she said, because he threatened to turn the weapons on himself. And then the cycle began anew: “He would come back so sweet and so kind and so loving — and so sorry,” she said.Days into her freshman term as a Democratic Congresswoman from Missouri, Ms. Bush, 44, emerged as a public force; as her first action, she introduced legislation to investigate and expel members of Congress who voted to overturn the election and supported the riot in the Capitol.But even before she was sworn in, she shared her experiences as a survivor of domestic abuse, in hopes of reframing the issue. “I’ve allowed myself to be vulnerable about it,” she said in an interview last month, “because I feel like if we don’t normalize the conversation — people are still being hurt, especially right now, with Covid, and the lockdown,” when calls to support networks are spiking.Ms. Bush’s candor comes as some state lawmakers, working with researchers, have begun to reshape the law to acknowledge that the controlling and isolating behaviors she cites, often referred to as “coercive control,” are not only steppingstones to violence, but can be criminally abusive in their own right. Activists hope that by broadening the definition of abuse, they can help victims reclaim their autonomy, and catch perpetrators before cases spiral toward hospitalization — or worse.In September, California passed a law that allows coercive control behaviors, such as isolating partners, to be introduced as evidence of domestic violence in family court. That month, Hawaii became the first state to enact anti-coercive control legislation. A similar law was introduced in the New York legislature.The efforts address what experts say is a common, long-held misperception that an abusive situation is only a partner throwing a punch, rather than an incremental constricting of someone’s life, to dominate them.“By the time you see a broken bone, the person has experienced a lot of other damaging behaviors,” said Lynn Rosenthal, who was the first White House adviser on violence against women and served on the Biden transition team.Of course the violence itself has not abated. In the United States, one in four women and one in seven men experience severe violence in their relationships in their lifetimes, and it’s the leading cause of homicides for women, according to the National Domestic Violence Hotline.But as gender-based inequities surfaced in the wake of the #MeToo movement, and more women — and therefore more survivors — entered government, they and others have been vocal about how much more complicated the calculus of abuse can be, how yawning the gaps in protection and how damaging the belief that victims can just leave.Though they may suffer injuries, many survivors say that what keeps them in the relationship, and what makes the trauma last, is mental and emotional abuse. The musician FKA twigs, 33, who filed a lawsuit last month accusing her former boyfriend, the actor Shia LaBeouf, of sexual battery, assault and inflicting emotional distress, said in the suit that his constant “belittling and berating” shrunk her self-esteem and made her easier to control. A year later, she said in an interview, she was still suffering the repercussions: “I have panic attacks almost every single night.”The musician FKA twigs, born Tahliah Debrett Barnett, filed a lawsuit accusing her former boyfriend, the actor Shia LaBeouf, of abuse.Credit…Ana Cuba for The New York TimesThe term coercive control is embraced by some researchers to describe the dynamics of abuse because it encompasses acts like creeping isolation, entrapment, denigration, financial restrictions and threats of emotional and physical harm, including to pets or children, that are used to strip victims of power. Mild but frequent bodily aggression — pushing and grabbing, or increasing roughness during sex in a way the partner does not like — is another hallmark, experts said.As destructive as those behaviors may be, they are not often treated by law enforcement or courts as improper on their own, sharpening the belief that victims must be battered and hospitalized before their accounts might be taken seriously. Doubt about how the justice system would treat them is not unfounded: About 88 percent of survivors surveyed by the ACLU said the police did not believe them or blamed them for the abuse.The new laws to address coercive behaviors have raised some concerns from advocates who worry that — in court proceedings that lawyers in the field say are already stacked against survivors — the standard of proof might be too high, especially when officials don’t have the tools to identify and prove patterns of risky behavior. “Researchers understand coercive control as something that can help predict the outcome of a dangerous situation that becomes deadly,” said Rachel Louise Snyder, author of the 2019 book “No Visible Bruises: What We Don’t Know About Domestic Violence Can Kill Us.” But, she added, “law enforcement doesn’t necessarily recognize that.”Coercive control has been illegal in England and Wales since 2015, but 2018 saw the highest number of domestic violence-related killings in five years, according to the BBC. The Center for Women’s Justice, a British watchdog group, filed complaints in 2019 and 2020 alleging “systematic failure” on the part of police to safeguard victims. “Officers on the ground don’t understand” coercive control, said Harriet Wistrich, the center’s director. Though there has been some training, she emphasized that for the law to be most effective, police, social workers and the courts need to have a shared understanding of how emotional abuse can become criminal.Others are concerned that, in the United States, adopting and implementing new laws could drain resources from survivors’ pressing logistical needs, or from other pathways to justice. A growing faction of advocates say the best response lies not in the criminal courts, with their racial and economic inequities, but in dialogue-based alternatives like restorative justice.Judy Harris Kluger, a retired New York judge who is executive director of the nonprofit Sanctuary for Families, said she agreed that coercive control is important as a concept. As a judge, though, “I’d rather have energy put into enforcing the laws that we have,” she said, “but also focusing on other things besides litigation to address domestic violence,” like funding for prevention, housing and job programs for survivors.Still, supporters say that legally acknowledging how pernicious the problem is will make it easier to fight — and help force a reckoning over its pervasiveness.They point to Scotland as a potential model. Its domestic abuse laws enacted in 2019 focus on coercive control and include funding for training; a majority of its police and support staff has taken mandatory courses to understand the issue, said Detective Superintendent Debbie Forrester, Police Scotland’s lead for domestic abuse. The judiciary got lessons too. Alongside a public campaign explaining that controlling behavior is illegal, the authorities put abusers on notice that they would be scrutinized: “We will speak to previous partners,” a police statement warned.In the year following the law, the number of charges reported for prosecution related to domestic abuse jumped nearly 6 percent, according to the Scottish government. Though they could always prosecute violence, previously “there was nothing that was actually called domestic abuse,” Ms. Forrester said. “That has been really important for victims — they understand that the laws and the structure is there to support them.”Susan Rubio, 50, the state senator from California who headed the effort to adopt new legislation there, said she was motivated partly by her own experiences. In 2016, during divorce proceedings, she accused her husband, Roger Hernández, a California state assemblyman, of domestic violence, describing instances in which he punched her in the chest and attempted to strangle her with a belt, court documents say. The judge granted her a restraining order. Mr. Hernández, who was gearing up for a congressional primary, denied the allegations. Rebuked by his statehouse colleagues, he disappeared from his congressional race. (Mr. Hernández did not respond to requests for comment.)The law Ms. Rubio proposed, which allows coercive control to be used as evidence of domestic violence in family court, went into effect this month. It defined those behaviors as instances in which one party deprived, threatened or intimidated another, or controlled, regulated or monitored their “movements, communications, daily behavior, finances, economic resources or access to services.”Susan Rubio, a state senator from California, headed the effort to adopt legislation that allows coercive control behaviors to be used as evidence of domestic violence in family court.Credit…Lorie Shelley, California Senate Rules PhotographyIn Hawaii, the definition of domestic violence was expanded to acknowledge coercive control, including name-calling and degradation. The law was shaped in part by a researcher, Barbara Gerbert, and a local police officer, May Lee. “Domestic violence is a complex issue, but at the heart of it is the need for power and control,” Ms. Lee wrote to the legislature.The term coercive control was popularized around 2007 by Evan Stark, a researcher and forensic social worker whose work was cited by governments in the United Kingdom.The laws, in the United States and other countries, recognize an evolution in thought and research about domestic abuse, once normalized and minimized as an unfortunate outgrowth of bad relationships. Experts say research has increasingly shown the insufficiency of law enforcement approaches that treat domestic assaults as isolated incidents, akin to being punched by a stranger in a bar fight, and ignore the experiences of those for whom the abuse was often broader in scope and not always marked by violence, but debilitating, repetitive and no less damaging.“We have failed to connect the dots until very recently in all these other ways,” Ms. Snyder, the author, said. “Coercive control laws are a first attempt to address some of that — the unseen dynamics that are so, so dangerous.”Those who study domestic abuse say it follows a pattern: Ardent, rapid courtship that gives way to tests of loyalty, isolation from loved ones, belittling and deprivation of resources, whether it’s money, time, sleep or food — all in service of breaking down and controlling another person.At the outset of a relationship, “love-bombing,” as it’s sometimes called, is a classic warning sign, experts say. “Showing up early to give the partner flowers. Picking her up when she doesn’t expect it,” said Chitra Raghavan, a forensic psychologist at John Jay College of Criminal Justice.The gestures may seem sweet, thoughtful, but they’re a test: Monopolizing a partner’s time and attention sows isolation and shows the abuser “that he can control her,” Dr. Raghavan said.If a partner protests, an abuser may ratchet up the charm, experts said. The cycle gives the victim an illusion of control, and the perpetrator an excuse to mete out punishment: just don’t hang out with those friends, wear that outfit, cook that meal. But the boundaries for correct behavior keep shifting.“Every time we see that someone died at the hands of their partners, that’s something we could’ve stopped, as a society,” Ms. Bush said.Credit…Whitney Curtis for The New York TimesMs. Bush’s former boyfriend had rules about how and when she could wash the dishes or use the stove, she recalled. FKA twigs, whose given name is Tahliah Debrett Barnett, said that Mr. LaBeouf was feverishly jealous, and would also grow angry if she handed him his toothbrush when he was in the shower, even though that’s when he liked to brush his teeth. “He said that I was controlling, because I had given him the toothbrush with toothpaste,” she recalled.(Mr. LaBeouf did not respond to a request for comment. In a statement to The New York Times when Ms. Barnett’s lawsuit was filed, he said: “I have been abusive to myself and everyone around me for years. I have a history of hurting the people closest to me. I’m ashamed of that history and am sorry to those I hurt.” He added that “many” of the allegations by Ms. Barnett and another former girlfriend were not true, but gave no further details.)Jennifer Spivak, 31, the founder of a digital advertising agency whose ex-boyfriend pleaded guilty in 2011 to felony strangulation, said that he more often used threats than physical violence. During the early wave of affection, she gave into requests like forgoing the gym to spend more time with him. She relinquished her privacy, showing her boyfriend her texts and emails. But he wasn’t satisfied.“I became obsessed with figuring out how to keep things nice, moment to moment,” Ms. Spivak said. He would escort her to the bank and force her to cash her paychecks and relinquish the money, which complicated her ability to leave him.Jennifer Spivak said her ex-boyfriend forced her to hand over money from paychecks. Now she makes a point to work with women, to boost others’ financial independence.Credit…Meghan Marin for The New York TimesFor the most part, she said he didn’t hit her; rather she said he “psychologically tortured” her for small infractions like not answering his call at work, berating her for hours while she stood in the tub naked and he held an iron above the water.“I would wonder, am I being abused if I don’t have any bruises?” said Ms. Spivak, whose isolation exacerbated her self-doubt. As a survivor, she makes a point to work with women, to boost others’ financial independence.Ms. Barnett said that once she could finally see how bad things were with Mr. LaBeouf, she was too ashamed to admit it: “I just couldn’t connect with my old life, because it was a reminder of how far away I was from myself.” She filed the lawsuit, she said, to highlight the patterns in her relationship, and to show how anyone, no matter their status, can be ensnared.The most dangerous moment for victims of domestic violence, experts say, is when they decide to end their relationship; on average, it takes seven attempts to leave an abuser, according to the National Domestic Violence Hotline. Shame and fear — coupled with economic insecurity, racial and social justice concerns, and worries about destabilizing the household, especially with children — keep many from reporting their assaults or the terrors they live with, advocates say.Ms. Rubio, the California lawmaker, resisted calling authorities during her marriage — despite her resources, she didn’t have the courage, she said, and worried about public scrutiny. “Coercive control, it paralyzes a victim,” she said.Ms. Bush said her boyfriend’s violence escalated to the point that he once shot at her with a gun. She never called the police. “I didn’t want him to go to jail,” she said. “So I couldn’t figure out how to say what happened. And I didn’t want people to look at me like I was stupid — like, why are you with this guy? Because I’m smarter than what they’re going to think.”As she enters Congress, Ms. Bush said she thinks of combating domestic violence as building a social movement to save lives. “Every time we see that someone died at the hands of their partners,” she said, “that’s something we could’ve stopped, as a society.”If you or someone you know is being abused, support and help are available. Visit the hotline’s website or call 1-800-799-7233.AdvertisementContinue reading the main story More

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      Stimulus Offers $15 Billion in Relief for Struggling Arts Venues

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      #masthead-section-label, #masthead-bar-one { display: none }The Coronavirus OutbreakliveLatest UpdatesMaps and CasesThe Stimulus DealThe Latest Vaccine InformationF.A.Q.AdvertisementContinue reading the main storySupported byContinue reading the main storyStimulus Offers $15 Billion in Relief for Struggling Arts VenuesThe coronavirus relief package that Congressional leaders agreed to this week includes grant money that many small proprietors described as a last hope for survival.An empty United Palace Theater in New York. $15 billion of a $900 billion coronavirus relief package is designed to help the culture sector survive after a nearly yearlong revenue drought.Credit…George Etheredge for The New York TimesBen Sisario and Dec. 21, 2020, 4:24 p.m. ETFor the music venue owners, theater producers and cultural institutions that have suffered through the pandemic with no business, the coronavirus relief package that congressional leaders agreed to this week offers the prospect of aid at last: it includes $15 billion to help them weather a crisis that has closed theaters and silenced halls.The money, part of a $900 billion coronavirus relief package, is designed to help the culture sector — from dive-bar rock clubs to Broadway theaters and museums — survive. Many small proprietors described it as their last hope for being able to remain in business after a nearly yearlong revenue drought.“This is what our industry needs to make it through,” said Dayna Frank, the owner of First Avenue, a storied music club in Minneapolis. She is also the board president of the National Independent Venue Association, which was formed in April and has lobbied Congress aggressively for relief for its more than 3,000 members.As the news of the deal began to trickle out on Sunday night, a collective sigh of relief ricocheted through group text messages and social media posts. “Last night was the first time I have smiled in probably nine months,” Ms. Frank said.Dayna Frank, the owner of First Avenue in Minneapolis, said, “This is what our industry needs to make it through.”Credit…Jenn Ackerman for The New York TimesBroadway theaters, which have been closed since March, applauded the relief package.“We are grateful for this bipartisan agreement which will provide immediate relief across our industry and a lifeline to the future,” Charlotte St. Martin, the president of the Broadway League, the trade organization for producers and theater owners, said in a statement.Nataki Garrett, the artistic director for Oregon Shakespeare Festival, said that the aid would be crucial for nonprofit theaters. “Our situation was critical and dire,” she said.But the leaders of some large nonprofit cultural organizations worried that the way the bill is structured — giving priority to organizations that lost very high percentages of their revenue before considering the rest — could put them at the back of the line for grants, since they typically get a significant portion of revenues through donations.With the bill set to be approved in both chambers of Congress as early as Monday evening, arts groups around the nation were cautiously celebrating while studying the fine print to see what kind of aid they might qualify for. Most doubt the entertainment industry can fully swing back into action until well into next year, at the earliest.The bill allows independent entertainment businesses, like music venues and movie theaters, along with other cultural entities, to apply for grants from the Small Business Administration to support six months of payments to employees and for costs including rent, utilities and maintenance. Applicants must have lost at least 25 percent of their revenue to qualify, and those have lost more than 90 percent will be able to apply first, within the first two weeks after the bill becomes law.The Coronavirus Outbreak More