But the cultural clash on masks and the xenophobia linked to contagious diseases fueled the rise of  anti-Asian sentiment. Wearing a face mask became a stigma  for Asian people in this country, but many continued to wear one to protect their health and the health of their community. 

 Here are photos of  Asians and Asian Americans  wearing face masks in March, 2020 in the city.

A masked man with his loaded handcart walks in the golden hour in Flushing, Queens. Photo by Bohao Liu

The fruit vendor in a white coat and behind a white mask in Chinatown, Manhattan. Photo by Bohao Liu

Wearing masks near a fruit stand in Flushing, Queens. Photo by Bohao Li

Crossing the street in Flushing, Queens. Photo by Bohao Liu

A butcher wears a mask in Chinatown, Manhattan. Photo by Bohao Liu

A woman sits with a mask on in Chinatown, Manhattan. Photo by Bohao Liu

A  worker wears a mask in Chinatown, Manhattan. Photo by Bohao Liu

Passersby wearing masks in Chinatown, Manhattan. Photo by Bohao Liu

Two cooks behind the roast meat and masks in Chinatown, Manhattan. Photo by Bohao Liu

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With the closing of museums, Broadway theaters and restaurants, the coronavirus pandemic has slammed NYC’s tourism industry. Major tourist destinations such as Times Square and Chinatown are no longer packed with cars and tourists. Airports and subway  stations  are empty. .

The White House’s coronavirus response coordinator said that the virus “attack rate” in the New York area was five times that in other areas. New York State saw an increase of more than 4,000 confirmed cases since Sunday night, putting the total at 20,909 as of Monday afternoon.

One of the most popular attractions for tourists – the staircase located at Times Square is almost empty because of the coronavirus outbreak. Photo by Shiyu Xu.

As one of the last costumed characters at Times Square, the man dressed up as the Statue of Liberty stands still even though there are few  tourists to take pictures with him. Photo by Shiyu Xu.

Gift shops near Times Square are empty. Photo by Shiyu Xu.

A musician sings in  an empty  23rd street subway station. Photo by Shiyu Xu.

A Chinese woman sits alone on a nearly empty subway car with a mask in NYC. Photo by Shiyu Xu.

An old man walks around in Chinatown with a mask on. As one of the most popular tourism attractions, NYC’s Chinatown is now in sleep mode. Shops and restaurants are closed. Photo by Shiyu Xu.

Hung Lee Co. is one of the few grocery stories that remain open in NYC’s Chinatown under the coronavirus pandemic. Photo by Shiyu Xu.

Empty luggage carousels  in the departure level at Newark Liberty International Airport . Photo by Shiyu Xu.

The departure level at Newark Liberty International Airport has been nearly empty since coronavirus hit the area. Photo by Shiyu Xu.

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Chinatown tenants today began a hunger strike in an ongoing fight for their homes. It’s the latest development in a two-year battle between the tenants of 85 Bowery and their landlord, Joseph Betesh.

Two weeks ago, the Department of Housing and Preservation issued a vacate order for the 75 people living at 85 Bowery. City officials deemed the building uninhabitable because of an unsafe central staircase. They required Betesh to make repairs before the tenants would be allowed back in.

Meanwhile, tenants have been living in nearby hotels and shelters because Betesh missed the city’s deadline to complete the repairs.

Tenants say that Betesh is using the lack of repairs as a tactic to force them out and raise the rent with new tenants.

E-Joo Young was at home with her grandchildren, a four-year-old and a newborn baby, when she was forced out of her apartment.

“I’ve lived in the building for twenty-some years, but they kicked us out in two hours,” she said.

Joe Betesh, the owner of 85 Bowery, said in a statement, “Our team is working diligently each day to repair and replace the severely damaged infrastructure of 85 Bowery and make the building safe for habitation.”

The strike began on the eve of the Chinese New Year, which starts on February 16.

Sarah Ahn, an organizer with the Coalition to Protect Chinatown and the Lower East Side, said the holiday focuses on the importance of family and people’s homes.

“The new year for the tenants is very symbolic,” she said. “It has a lot to do with home.”

Without access to their apartments, the tenants can’t use their ancestral shrines to properly celebrate the new year.

“We are supposed to be celebrating the lunar new year,” said E-Joo Young. “Instead we are out on the street.”

Six tenants say they will continue the hunger strike until the city pressures Betesh to make the required repairs and allows the tenants back in their homes.

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The eve of the 15th anniversary of 9/11 was a festive day in Chinatown.

Visitors and residents ate free Chinese food and watched traditional Chinese performances at the 3rd Mid-Autumn Moon Festival in Chinatown. Local Business owners showcased they work in booths. Even five years ago this activity would be unheard of in this immigrant neighborhood, just east of ground zero.

“It is a long journey to recover from what we have experienced over the past 15 years, but we are trying,” said Wellington Z. Chen, the executive director for Chinatown Partnership Local Development Corporation, who helped organize the festival

He said the festival was developed to raise public awareness about the business and culture within Chinatown.

Following the 9/11 attacks, Chinatown suffered an economic depression. Census data of 2012 indicated a 9% loss of population in and local businesses experienced a 50% – 70% loss in monthly revenue in the three-month after the attacks.

Today, 15 years later, Chinatown business leaders remembered what happened on that day and the impact it had on their livelihood.

“It was a tragedy,” said Hua Li, 60, the president of United Fujianese of American. His wife, who used to work in the 1 World Trade Center, is a 9/11 survivor.

“She should have been there working on the 93rd floor, but luckily, when the flight crashed into the building she was on the ground,” Li said. “Many of her colleagues and a close friend of ours passed away. It’s very hard for all of us to remember that day.”

Following the attacks, Chinatown was hit by martial law aimed at keeping neighbors safe, but the cost was steep for businesses.

Dust and smoke were in the air. No trucks were allowed on Canal Street, their major business corridor. Chinatown residents had to show identification to get into their neighborhood. Parking was taken over by law enforcement. Businesses could not get delivers and there were no customers in sight. People moved away, businesses shut down, tourist buses and tourists stopped going into the area. According to data from Chinatown Partnership website, by 2002, up to 100 garment factories closed, which resulted in the loss of 8000 jobs lost.

“No one came to the store at that time,” said Tea Fu Zi, owner of Good Tea Water, a tea shop in Chinatown for over 20 years. “If I got $5 in a day, that would be my big day.”

Life changed not only for Hua Li and Tea Fu Zi, but for many Chinatown residents. This led members in the community take proactive measures.

In 2006, Chen formed the Chinatown Partnership. His goal was to rebuild Chinatown into a business improvement district that brings residents, business owners, and community groups together to promote a special destination to live, work, and visit. They also want to preserve their neighborhood and culture.

“It needs a process,” Chen said. “Unlike other BIDs, we use our money directly to repair the environment that 9/11 left for us.”

In the last three years, the Chinatown Partnership has worked with the Chinatown Business Improvement District and the Clean Streets projects. They brought in guidepost, cultural lanterns decoration projects, and store rental projects.

Ten years later, there are more than 4,000 stores, markets and big malls in Chinatown. Every year the officers from Chinatown Partnership conduct market research to determine growth and needs of local businesses.

Jason Kwan, the vice president of A-image Company, sold his self-designed Chinese T-shirt at the festival. This is his third year participating.

“It is a good way to help others see the beauty of Chinese culture and history,” Kwan said.

Chen said this is only the beginning.

“After the 9/11 attacks, everything changed, but did not change indeed,” Chen said. Chinatown has more than 100 years history, it is our duty to protect it and pass it to our younger generation as what it was before the attacks.”

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Eighty-one-year-old Liu, or “Grandpa Liu”, as other tenants call him, has been living here for two months. He shares a cubicle with another man and pays $195 per month for rent. For him, moving around is the norm.

“We either don’t speak English, or are undocumented, so we cannot sign leases,” said Liu. “When I first came here, I found a place on Delancey Street, eight of us shared a one-bedroom apartment. I lived there for two years, and then the person who signed the lease was gone. All of us had to move out. It’s like this every time.”

Chinese are the second most undocumented immigrants in the country.

Mae Lee, the executive director of Chinese Progressive Association, said that many of the houses in Chinatown actually don’t have leases because the landlords never offer them one.

Mae Lee, the executive director of Chinese Progressive Association, said that many of the houses in Chinatown actually don’t have leases because the landlords never offer. Photo by Ellie Miao

“There is a language barrier of course, but many of the migrants also don’t know their rights and don’t know about leases. Especially those who are undocumented, they are more vulnerable,” said Lee. “ I’ve heard cases in which the landlords threatened to turn in the undocumented tenants to the government.”
Liu has moved so many times over the years that he couldn’t name every one of them. He remembers living in three places on Broome Street, the longest stay was seven years, and the shortest was two weeks.

“Rent should be one third of your income, that is the national standard of how you can live comfortably. But in Chinatown the rent is roughly the same as the median household income, which is $2700,” said Lee. “For many migrants, Chinatown is the first place where they come to live. They have nothing and they are paid poorly, but there is just not enough affordable housing in here.”

According to the Asian American Federation of New York Census Information Center’s research, almost one third of the Chinese in New York City live below the poverty line, many do not speak English and have never finished high school. This contributes to living conditions like at 81 Bowery.

No private bathroom, no kitchen and no stove make daily life very hard in 81 Bowery. Liu only cooks once a day and saves the food in the tiny fridge for the rest of the day.

Liu has lived in New York City for 17 years. He grew up in Southern China’s Fujian Province, which is where most Chinese migrants in New York are from. His son was the first one in the family who immigrated to America, followed by his two daughters. Liu and his ex wife, whom he divorced 35 years ago, were the last to come.

“Seventeen years ago, I was still strong enough to work,” said Liu. “Now I’m too old.”
He worked in a nail salon owned by a guy he knew back in Fujian, until five years ago. Now he has a green card, the government gives him $500 per month’s subsidy.

“I have no family here in New York. My son and daughters are in Connecticut,” said Liu. But he would rather stay in New York than living with them in Connecticut. “They all have their own families now.”
Liu is proud of his families. “My biggest grandson is a college graduate,” he said. “He is an engineer and he makes decent money; unlike me, I’m illiterate, I never went to school.” However, Liu said he hadn’t talked to him for years, not even over the phone.

Liu’s best friend in 81 Bowery is Jiang, a 37-year-old construction worker. Jiang has been here for seven years, and never got married. “I live here because it’s cheap,” said Jiang, “I’m still paying back my stowaway fee to the ‘snakehead’.”

Snakehead refers to the infamous Chinese gangsters in New York City who help people enter America illegally. Most of the money Jiang made over the years has been paid to his snakehead, so he has no savings. He lives in a cubicle by himself and pays $250 per month.

Liu is moving out again in late February, to temporarily stay with his friend in Flushing, Queens before going back to China for a visit. He has no idea where to live when he comes back to New York.

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Chinatown while recovering from Sandy, gets ready for Election Day. from Pavement Pieces on Vimeo.

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Lavish signs in all hues of orange, blue, and green adorn Main Street in Flushing, Queens, showcasing homeland favorites like flaky, pan-fried scallion pancakes and luscious pearl milk tea to Chinese movies and books galore. Most of these signs catch the eye not for their colors or designs, but because majority of them are in Chinese.

“It really makes me feel like I’m actually there – in China,” said Rouen, France native Agnes Rousseau, 37, who was visiting New York with her husband and two young daughters. “But it’s extremely overwhelming and a bit intimidating how nearly every sign is structured in the same way with barely any English translations.”

Last August, Councilman Peter Koo urged inspectors with the New York City Department of Consumer Affairs to enforce a state law passed in 1993 that would require Flushing businesses to have at least 60 percent of their signs in English or face a fine if they did not comply. The law was originally enacted during the Depression to safeguard shoppers from scams in underground stores.

“Ultimately, these bills will help local businesses expand their customer base, increase revenues and be more consumer friendly,” said Koo in a press release. “Additionally, our police, firemen and emergency responders will be able to easily locate an establishment and ascertain what type of business they will encounter when they arrive.”

Koo’s chief of staff, James McLelland, said the bill is still being discussed in general counsel.

The proposition has divided much of the Asian population. Some dissenters believe English signs would not only “alienate” Chinese customers, especially those who do not speak English and rely on the signs for guidance, but also force immigrants to assimilate to American customs. On the other hand, supporters of the law feel that implementing English is something necessary that would not only generate more revenue by attracting consumers of more diverse backgrounds, but also seems proper to incorporate the dialect that U.S. citizens are required to know.

Flushing resident Yu Zhou, 52, does not want the signs to change. They help her feel connected to her native language and culture.

“My language and culture is all I have here to remind me of what I left behind,” she said . “I feel like I would be giving up a part of me if all the signs were to change.”

Zhou, who came to New York with her daughter and son from Shanghai nearly 20 years ago, said she felt the law “may have good intentions,” but being immersed into “so much English” in a city supposedly renowned for its diversity is upsetting.

According to the Bureau of Labor Statistics, Asian Americans constitute about 12 percent of New York City’s population, with those of Chinese origin making up nearly half that number.

Maylei Zhou, 24, Yu’s daughter, has been frequenting Main Street’s Tai Pan Bakery for her daily morning roast pork bun and hot milk tea before her commute to Hunter College, where she is studying nursing. She said the bakery, which caters to a mostly Chinese community, makes her relive the few memories she has left of her childhood back in Shanghai.

Maylei Zhou (center), a Shanghai native who has been living in Flushing for the past 20 years, shops for fruits outside the Ou Jiang Supermarket on the corner of Main Street and 40th Road in Flushing, Queens on Saturday. Photo by Alexa Mae Asperin

“It’s like my little piece of China,” she said. “It gives me a sense of connection to the things we left back home. But for others, the menu, the language, it may seem a bit overwhelming.”

Zhou referenced the predominantly Chinese-language menu at Tai Pan Bakery, where she pointed out the minute English descriptions under the large Chinese lettering of menu items, adding that for those unfamiliar with the Chinese language, deciphering the menu could very much be a daunting endeavor.

A few blocks down south at the Maxin Bakery, which also has a menu much akin to the one in Tai Pan, Mai Ling Chen, 45, said most of the regular customers were of Chinese descent and that tourists rarely frequented the eatery. She said the law, if enforced, would not welcome new customers, but rather discourage some of their current patrons.

“When most people think of Chinatown, they go to Manhattan, not Flushing,” said Chen, of Bayside, Queens. “Most of the people that come in here are Chinese and other Asian customers buying groceries or baked goods on a daily basis, not as a one-time visit.”

The New York City Department of City Planning’s 2000 Census states there are over 122,000 foreign-born residents in Queens Community District 7, which includes cities such as Flushing, College Point, and Bay Terrace. Of that figure, about 32,000 people are from China. Additionally, nearly 35 percent of that population does not speak English; Chinese is the main language spoken in 27,031 homes.

Gary Luo, 55, owner of a small electronics store nearby, agreed with Chen, noting that most of his customers are fellow Chinese consumers, many from his hometown of Beijing. Luo said most of the people that visit his store come in because “they feel comfortable asking questions about technical things with someone they know will not judge or criticize them if their language is a little off.”

Luo, who came to Flushing 22 years ago with his daughter and son, said he struggled learning English but knew it was necessary for him to start his business. He added that he felt it was important for him to know English so he could teach his children.

“It was scary at first when we first came to America, learning something new, but it’s part of being an American,” Luo said. “I feel as a Chinese-American that you need to embrace the English language but remember your roots also. You don’t need to give it all up.”

However, he added that the law does not take into consideration differences between the Chinese and English languages.

“That up there in Chinese means Red House,” Luo said as he pointed to a fluorescent orange sign surrounded by other multicolored placards. “But that’s actually a real estate office.”

Lin Chun, 31, of Flushing, left Changsha, China for New York five years ago to pursue a law degree. She has come to Maxin Bakery every morning for her usual coffee and egg tart, which she said instantly “teleports me to the corner bakery in Changsha.” She felt it was a “shame” that the battle for English signs in Flushing was garnering opposition because “equality is something that should be present everywhere.”

“I am proud of my heritage, my culture, my language,” Chun said. “You see all of that here, but I’m not only Chinese. I’m Chinese-American. And that means the English language is a part of me now, too. It’s only fitting that everyone should get the best of both worlds.”

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Customers enjoy pastries and gelato at Ferrara, a pasticceria and espresso bar in Little Italy. Despite the neighborhood's identity crisis and shrinking size, Ferrara has managed to keep customers coming in for 118 years. Photo by Jessica Bell

Adeline Lepore-Sessa sat behind a paper-covered desk on the third floor of Ferrara, the pasticceria and espresso bar her family has owned for 118 years.

As she chatted about the history of her beloved family business, her phone rang and she signed off on her employees’ paperwork.

“The job is the job,” she said in her thick Brooklyn accent, referencing the lack of glamor involved in owning a business.

Despite a changing neighborhood and what some see as a growing lack of faith in the authenticity of Little Italy, Ferrara is still thriving in its role as a long-lasting, family-owned business.

Lepore-Sessa’s great-uncle and great-grandfather opened Ferrara in 1892 on the corner of Grand and Mulberry Streets. At that time, New York was inundated with Italian immigrants coming to the United States to find work and fulfill their American dreams.

After she started a family of her own, Lepore-Sessa, 46, came back to work permanently for the company 19 years ago.

“You know, it’s an ego thing. At first you want to try to make it on your own, but then you realize you want to work with the family,” she said.

Lepore-Sessa’s great-uncle Antonio Ferrara opened the café so Italians could have a place to get authentic Italian espresso. Ferrara officially became known as America’s first espresso bar, a slogan the company still uses today.

“We’ve been incorporated longer than New York,” Lepore-Sessa said.

Lepore-Sessa, a self-proclaimed daddy’s girl, can’t remember a time when she wasn’t coming into the shop with her father.

Her grandparents lived in Little Italy, but Lepore-Sessa and her three siblings grew up in the Dyker Heights and Bay Ridge areas of Brooklyn. Still, her constant visits to Ferrara made it feel like a second home — and a job.

“Well, I mean, it depends on what you mean by work,” she said with a laugh. “I would consider it work long before my father did. I was behind the counter from 8 years old.”

Just as Lepore-Sessa did in high school and college, many of Ferrara’s employees’ children work there in the summers, starting out serving gelato and moving up to serving pastries and working the cash register.

“We really are all like family around here,” said Enza Gambino, 39, a manager who has worked at Ferrara for 10 years.

During the peak of the recession in 2008, Lepore-Sessa said it was that sense of family that determined how they ran their business.

“You know, when times are tough, people have to decide — it’s either dinner or dessert. And, I mean, you have to eat,” she said of the change in business. “But we made it a point to not fire anyone. This is our family here.”

Lepore-Sessa also attributes a familial devotion to the business and its employees as the reason Ferrara has been able to thrive in a changing Little Italy.

Modern-day Little Italy is not what it once was. Now the community spans east to west from Elizabeth Street to Baxter Street, and north to south between Spring and Canal Streets, with the main action happening on Mulberry Street.

Even though the neighborhood has become much smaller, several businesses remained.

“When I was a kid, Little Italy was blocks long and blocks wide. It was a big neighborhood, and it was all Italian,” Lepore-Sessa said. “Tenants, business owners — everyone spoke Italian.”

Lepore-Sessa blames the expansion of SoHo and Chinatown for the shrinking of Little Italy.

“You have a younger, yuppier crowd moving in with the boutiques in SoHo, and Chinatown coming up from the south,” she said.

But Joseph V. Scelsa, president and founder of the Italian American Museum, says the reason SoHo and Chinatown were able to expand was because Italian-Americans wanted to leave.

“They moved out to the suburbs; it’s the American dream,” Scelsa said. “At the time, Little Italy was considered a ghetto. It’s not anymore, but then it was, and they wanted to leave. It was a goal.”

The majority of Italian-Americans started leaving Little Italy in the 1960s and 70s, but it wouldn’t have been noticeable until at least the 1980s, according to Scelsa.

“Now it’s not a neighborhood anymore. Some people call it a theme park,” Scelsa said. “There are probably less than 200 Italians living in Little Italy right now, and they are all in their 60s, 70s, 80s. In about 10 years there won’t be any Italians left living in Little Italy.”

For Lepore-Sessa, however, this doesn’t seem like the end of an era. Her café is surrounded by other authentic Italian, family-owned businesses. Across the street is Alleva, the first cheese shop in America, and right next door is E. Rossi & Co., a souvenir shop. Both establishments are more than 100 years old.

Despite an overwhelming number of tourists who pass through Ferrara on a daily basis, Gambino says the store still has a group of regulars — mostly people who work in Little Italy rather than live there.

Like many Italian-Americans, Lepore-Sessa moved away from the city to Manalapan, N.J.

“Me and my husband, we wanted our kids to have that suburban lifestyle,” she said.

Still, in her eyes, what remains of Little Italy is Italian tradition. She notes that all the business owners are still Italian-American and she doesn’t think that will change, especially at Ferrara.

Her son works at a desk just a few feet away from her own and will be the fifth generation to someday own and operate the family business.

“We’re Italian — it’s all about family for us,” she said.

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Vincent Cirelli sits at his stand, Vinny's Nut House, in Little Italy. The neighborhood is rapidly shrinking, residents say. Photo by Elizabeth Vulaj

Vincent Cirelli likes familiarity. He is 59 and has had the same moustache since he was 16.

“When I was young, on Christmas Eve, my grandmother wanted to give me $500 to take it off,” Cirelli said. “And I told her no. I never took it off once.”

Cirelli was born in the heart of Little Italy and has been running his business, Vinny’s Nut House, a stand that sells candy apples, terroni and roasted nuts, for more than 35 years. He is the last of a dying breed in a neighborhood that he said has been taken over by “yuppies” and “the Chinese.”

“There’s no more Italians left. There are no more stands like me,” Cirelli said. “Before, there used to be 10 stands down just this one block that sold Italian food, just like mine. Now, I’m the only one left.”

The downtown neighborhood of Little Italy took root in the early 1900s when hundreds of Italian immigrants settled in the neighborhood. Many, like Cirelli’s family, were from Naples. The neighborhood used to comprise 30 blocks, but now stretches only three blocks down Mulberry Street, according to remaining residents.

The Italian population began to diminish in the 1990s when longtime residents died or moved away. In February, Little Italy and Chinatown were listed as a single historic district on the National Register of Historic Places.

Many residents say the main reason most Italians have left is because they didn’t want to raise their families here.

“You can’t grow your kids here,” Cirelli said. “There’s nothing for them to do here. There’s no good parks — no room for them to run around. For the movies, you have to go uptown.”

Although many outsiders claim Little Italy has been taken over by Chinatown, some residents also blame another culprit — “yuppies.” Young college students have come in and made the neighborhood more Americanized, they say. Cirelli and his workers are not always too fond of them.

“I don’t like the way kids are today around here,” said Pat Giordano, one of Cirelli’s workers. “They have no respect for their parents. I see young kids cursing at their mothers and saying ‘f–k you’ to them. If we ever did that, we would have gotten killed.”

Cirelli says he is one of the last remaining Italians who speaks the language fluently.

Traces of his childhood still remain in the neighborhood. Hanging in the window display at the Italian American Museum, on Mulberry Street, is a photo of a 7-year-old Cirelli and his grandmother, who died when Cirelli was 29. One of the main reasons Cirelli chose to stay behind while most of his friends and family left was to keep the business that his grandmother left him alive, according to those who know him best.

He has no wife or children. His friends say he has been married to his work ever since his grandmother left him the business, and he grew up with enough responsibilites that he did not need feel the need to start a family.

“I had a pretty hard life because my brother and sister were younger than I am, and I basically raised them,” Cirelli said. “I wanted to be on my own and have my head be clear…I already felt like I was married.”

Cirelli’s ‘marriage’ to his work has lasted more than 35 years. His medium-sized stand is right in front of the Italian American Museum and is painted green, white, and red, the colors of the Italian flag. He sells terroni and nuts to tourists and young college kids and shirts that say “Vinny’s Nut House”.

He’s been here forever and his employees say they cannot picture him doing anything else. He takes each day with a grain of salt, they say.

“He’s got his days. He can be grumpy sometimes,” employee Phillip Toribio, 24, said. “But for his age, he’s pretty funny and can find the humor in anything.”

Yet Cirelli has a hard time finding the humor in his changing hometown.

Despite the problems facing Little Italy faces, the longtime residents who stayed here say they won’t let their neighborhood fall apart.

“There will never be a bad part of Little Italy,” said Jimmy Valentino, 45, a longtime friend of Cirelli. “I won’t allow it. That’s why it’s one of the safest neighborhoods to live in. There’s never been any problems, and anyone who lives here will tell you that. And if there’s a problem, then it becomes my problem.”

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