#i JUST had covid like a month ago that should exempt me from the end of summer beginning of fall CRUD

[anonsally]

Transitions

As much as I had looked forward to the relaxing of pandemic restrictions as vaccination coverage increases (it is pretty high in my county, with over 70% of the population aged 12+ fully vaccinated, and an additional 12% who’ve had only one dose of a 2-dose vaccine), it’s a bumpy road, and of course now with the variants and the number of cases increasing, there’s additional anxiety.

We are back to dancing in the studio (albeit with masks, open windows, and slightly limited capacity), which has been great. It feels like a real return to normalcy and a reunion, with joyful hugs and getting to dance together and be in the same space. I am getting to see people I didn’t see during the pandemic, and reconnecting with some loose ties I had missed. It is absolutely feeding my soul.

However, the return to the office is a different story. From March 2020 until a couple of months ago, I was very eager to return to the office as soon as it was safe to do so. I have adjusted to working from home, and can acknowledge that there are some advantages, but I prefer having a better boundary between work and the rest of my life. Most importantly, though, the social aspect of working in the office is something I miss very badly. I feel isolated at home. My life has shrunk more than I want it to. As a shy extrovert, I need more social interaction than I have been getting, but I am not very good at actively seeking it out/making it happen; having friends I saw at work every day used to be an important part of my social life. Furthermore, working on campus gave me a sense of being part of a larger community, a sense that is hard to maintain when working in my own living room. 

However, when the dates for returning to the office were finally announced, I was blindsided by learning that my work friends were not in a hurry to return to the office--even the one whose kids (who are old enough to know better) didn’t hesitate to interrupt her while she was giving a virtual seminar lecture. In fact, my work best friend said she wasn’t sure she would be coming back to work on campus at all. She pointed out all the advantages for her of working from home. She is an outgoing introvert, so she used to socialise a lot at work, but apparently it felt like a burden. She concentrates better at home and likes that she doesn’t have to waste any time getting to and from the office (though her commute was only about 10 minutes by bike). 

I suddenly realised that returning to the office will not be what I had assumed it would be and had looked forward to. There were repeated conversations about it over our group text, most of which consisted of me pointing out the advantages of working in the office and Work Best Friend pointing out the disadvantages. I thought I communicated pretty clearly that seeing these friends was one of the main reasons I had been looking forward to going back to the office, and that I would really miss them.  

It’s already a month since I had the option to return to the office, and I still hadn’t done it because there didn’t seem to be much point in going back if I was the only one. I’m not good at transitions, and the uncertainty and anxiety was starting to get to me; so I figured I should just do it and at least get rid of the uncertainty, which would presumably reduce my anxiety.

So I brought my desktop computer (with 2 monitors, mouse, keyboard, and all the cables) back into the office on Monday. But... it was really depressing. The building was a ghost town. I could practically see the tumbleweeds rolling past. It was exactly what I had feared. I saw only 3 people, one of whom has the desk next to mine--I was glad to see her, but she told me she will be working remotely a lot of the time (and she works much earlier hours than I do so there isn’t much overlap in our day). Work Best Friend kept sending texts about the possibly inadequate covid-safety protocols and policies, which increased my anxiety about a transition I was already struggling with, and I ended up crying while doing my grocery shopping on the way home. Bizarrely, she then texted a little while later saying something like “Are you excited to be back in the office? (I can be happy for you even if it isn’t what I want for myself!)” So... apparently I had not really communicated to her how devastated I’d been by her resistance to returning to the office, and by the emptiness of the office that day. We cleared it up that evening, but... I was still really down.

Tuesday I didn’t even go back in--I had an appointment and a meeting (and I needed to be home for the virtual meeting), and then spent the rest of the afternoon getting through some emails and reading, so I didn’t need my work computer. 

Wednesday, I brought my office chair back in, and luckily, the office wasn’t so deserted. There were several more people in, including one of our new faculty hires, and I got some social interaction in the office. Thursday, I had lunch with the two aforementioned coworkers (Work Best Friend and the one whose kids interrupt her at home all the time), and the latter came into the office to transfer her things from her desk (which was opposite mine) to her new office down the hall. [She’s been promoted to a faculty job title that entitles her to an office with a door that closes, as opposed to the open floor plan workspaces the non-faculty academic employees like me get. I’m happy for her, though of course a bit sad that she’ll be further away from me.] Again, there were more people working on site. 

Friday, there were only a few of us--I think a lot of people will work from home on Mondays and Fridays maybe--but I still feel reassured by how the office felt on Wednesday and Thursday. Several people who were there commented on being glad to be back, and also, more people will definitely be around once the semester starts.

On the other hand, one floor of the next building over is currently having a covid-19 outbreak (8 cases reported in just 3 days), so I am a little anxious that we shouldn’t be back yet. Campus is implementing a vaccine mandate (people can apply for medical or religious exemptions, but then they will have to be tested every week), but not until the 4th of August. I think over 70% of employees have provided proof of vaccination, and it’s possible that some of the others are actually vaccinated but haven’t documented it yet, or that most of the unvaccinated people are working remotely, but... it’s still a little scary.

tl;dr: Transitions are hard, even when you want the change.

[easyfoodnetwork]

Landlords Lose Money When Restaurant Properties Sit Vacant, So Why Not Give Rent Relief?

George Wirt/Shutterstock

Property owners with bullish views and big cash reserves see no reason to give tenants any breaks

Every day, David Helbraun feels like banging his head against the wall. A founding partner and chairman at Helbraun Levey, a New York City-based hospitality law firm with more than 1,000 clients in the city alone, the former entrepreneur and coffee bar owner is struggling to help restaurant owners desperate after months of COVID-19-related closures, restrictions, and income loss. The biggest obstacle, he says, is landlords who would rather see a restaurant space remain vacant, bringing in no money, than negotiate partial payments and rent relief for tenants. Currently, the firm is handling lease negotiations for more than 200 clients.

“Why is this happening?” he says. “My gut tells me that the real estate market in New York is shark-infested waters, and the landlords who grew up and do business in these shark-infested waters have to be sharks themselves. You can’t reason with a shark. ‘Maybe you shouldn’t eat that seal, there aren’t many of them.’ No, they’re going to eat the seal.”

Helbraun’s frustration goes to the heart of a crisis facing the restaurant industry and so many others clobbered by the economic fallout of the coronavirus: the cost of real estate. In late July, Philadelphia’s all-day cafe High Street on Market announced it would close its longtime location in the Old City neighborhood because it simply couldn’t keep up with rent, which went up by $5,000 a month last October, says co-owner Ellen Yin. The restaurant struggled to make ends meet during mandated closures and months of lost business, and the landlord — whom Yin declined to name — wouldn’t budge or offer any concessions. (The property’s real estate agent refused to identify the landlord and would not give comment to Eater.) “I told him we were in a really difficult position,” Yin says. “‘It’s difficult to be a restaurateur in this situation, and while I understand you have expenses, I need help.’” Even though High Street had paid its rent in full through August 1, the only assistance she was offered was a promise not to raise rent when the lease came up for renewal in October. A day after Yin informed the landlord that they were vacating, they were sent a termination letter via certified mail. The space is already listed for rent online, starting in October.

High Street on Market isn’t the only popular restaurant to announce closure recently. Other high-profile restaurants and bars — including Uncle Boons and Banty Rooster in New York City and the Summer Place and Flights in the Bay Area — cite the challenges of paying rent and inflexible landlords as key reasons for closing. Space for kitchens, dining rooms, and bars is incredibly expensive for entrepreneurs and small businesses — typically between 6 to 10 percent of gross revenue, according to Paul Pruitt, an industry consultant in LA — especially during a pandemic that’s led to mandatory shutdowns and a steep drop in customers.

Industry figures are baffled as to why many landlords don’t want to negotiate some sort of rent relief, especially when they face an uncertain future as well. After all, they have their own mortgages to pay, and it seems unlikely, if not impossible, that they will find new tenants as the pandemic, and its economic effects, continue.

Many involved in these rent relief negotiations cite an array of factors that dictate a landlord’s willingness to negotiate, including the landlord-tenant relationship, the financial position of the landlord, and perceptions about the industry’s future. There are some instances where reduced rent comes with the deal. Leases for property in malls and large shopping centers have what’s called co-tenancy clauses. If an anchor client like Macy’s goes under, or a certain number of stores in the development close, then other tenants have the right to pay reduced rent due to the loss of foot traffic. Landlords in these situations may seek out a deal to provide relief to restaurant owners to avoid renegotiations and bigger losses. Sadly, clauses addressing pandemics aren’t common business practice.

“There are going to be people who are inflexible for whatever reason, and some that understand a restaurant can only do so much, that no customers means no tenants and it’ll be difficult to rent the space,” says Yin.

To be fair, not every landlord is playing hardball. Most “know they can’t get blood from a stone,” says Stephen Boyd, a senior director at Fitch Ratings. They want to preserve the income they can and set up deals with tenants that allow them to eventually recoup their losses. In Chicago, El Che Steakhouse has been able to work with landlords (who also happen to be investors), and Bay Area chain Wrecking Ball Coffee was given half-off rent by landlords for all three of its locations, with the balance due at an unspecified future date. Other landlords may want to budge, but can’t, says Milford Jones, the operator of Sellingrestaurants.com and a national broker who sets up lease deals for restaurants. Many landlords’ mortgage deals with banks include covenants that forbid charging rent below a certain figure.

“Of course, then there are landlords who are just plain assholes,” says Jones. “They always think there’s another, better tenant out there.”

The size of the landlord can often determine their relative openness to rent relief. Big-name developers, who have lots of capital and understand the value restaurants and bars bring to their larger developments, tend to be flexible. Small mom-and-pop landlords, who may have one or just a handful or properties, are “real people,” Helbraun says; they don’t have the reserves right now to risk vacancy, and tend to have better relationships with tenants.

The real trouble, Helbraun says, are the mid-size property owners with a few dozen buildings. He calls them the shark pool; “cultivating a reputation for being tough and not budging is how they’ve survived in the past.”

Another key factor is the relationship restaurant owners have with their landlord. Paying rent on time is just 50 percent of the relationship, says Salar Sheik, a consultant with LA-based Savory Hospitality. Is the restaurant/tenant an amenity that drives foot traffic, a famous name that brings in business, a corporate chain with deep pockets and consistency, or a business with a grandfathered liquor license, a huge asset, that may be at risk if a property were to remain vacant in a downturn? That means more leniency.

Some landlords see the fallout from COVID-19 as a time to cull poor-performing restaurants and strike a better deal. Consider a small bistro that signed a deal two years ago in an up-and-coming neighborhood; the landlord, looking for a tenant to drive foot traffic in what may be a gentrifying neighborhood, offered a sweetheart deal for a five-year lease. If that bistro is looking to negotiate some rent breaks or deferment, the landlord may look at how much more he could charge a new tenant, and decide that refusing to provide a break — which may mean months of an empty storefront — will be more than made up by a new tenant paying higher rent.

“It’s kind of like chess, and your landlord is thinking, are you a king or a queen, or are you a pawn he can afford to lose to win the game?” says Sheik.

Finally, a landlord’s own financial cushion will play into their strategy. Those who own multiple properties or have cash reserves can afford to leave a handful empty if the majority of them are profitable. Jones says that some of the big corporate landlords are “brainless” and will just sit with retail and restaurant space empty for years.

“While everything else is dying, they still want these premium rents, and you just shake your head,” he says.

Some landlords are even bullish, says Pruitt. They see sidewalk dining proliferate (even though it can cover at best only 20 to 25 percent of previous income, says Helbraun). They know that Paycheck Protection Program loans from the CARES Act and Economic Injury Disaster Loans from the Small Business Association are out. They see this as a small slump; the world will get back on its feet again and people will want to eat out again. If that’s your perspective, maybe you’ll offer payment deferrals, but why forgive rent?

Restaurateurs are at a breaking point. Helbraun says that the stimulus money has run out for many of his clients, and it doesn’t look like there’s more forthcoming from D.C. Once they have to close, they may just put their furniture and fixtures in storage, wait until rents fall in line with what they think they should be paying, and try to start again. (Many seek to take advantage of New York City’s Law 1932-A, which exempts restaurants owners, among others, from personal liability if they have to declare bankruptcy due to COVID-19-related closures. That hasn’t stopped many landlords from threatening to sue anyways, say Helbraun.)

“Where does that leave landlords? Who knows?” he says. “I just assume they have so much money in their portfolios they can write it off and just wait until things get better.”

While struggling restaurant owners asking for rent breaks don’t have the high ground today, things may change. Pruitt points to the high number of restaurant closings in 2019 as signs of development saturation; when things begin to take shape post-COVID-19, there will be a mounting number of vacant spaces landlords will lease at steep discounts. Yin plans to relocate High Street on Market to a new location, and says she’s been approached by lots of brokers offering open space; it’s nice to be seen as a good potential tenant, she says, but to her, that also signals that there are a lot of vacancies and people interested in cutting deals.

“I think the tough stance from landlords is really denial,” says Adam Weisblatt, CEO at Los Angeles-based Last Word Hospitality. “Considering that retail is also in dire straits, I think many landlords aren’t facing up to the fact that their business model is broken.”

Weisblatt thinks leases will also be different: He foresees deals where tenants pay a base rate, and then a percentage based on net sales, with clauses clearly spelling out what happens during a pandemic or other such disasters. “What you’re seeing is creativity on the business side is as important as the branding and food side,” he says. “A landlord is your partner, whether you like it or not, so that relationship is important.”

Chefs and owners who can’t catch a break can perhaps take solace in the fact that, when the industry does start bouncing back, new restaurateurs will know exactly which landlords weren’t great partners in the past.

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/327tvGp https://ift.tt/3174Ylb

George Wirt/Shutterstock

Property owners with bullish views and big cash reserves see no reason to give tenants any breaks

Every day, David Helbraun feels like banging his head against the wall. A founding partner and chairman at Helbraun Levey, a New York City-based hospitality law firm with more than 1,000 clients in the city alone, the former entrepreneur and coffee bar owner is struggling to help restaurant owners desperate after months of COVID-19-related closures, restrictions, and income loss. The biggest obstacle, he says, is landlords who would rather see a restaurant space remain vacant, bringing in no money, than negotiate partial payments and rent relief for tenants. Currently, the firm is handling lease negotiations for more than 200 clients.

“Why is this happening?” he says. “My gut tells me that the real estate market in New York is shark-infested waters, and the landlords who grew up and do business in these shark-infested waters have to be sharks themselves. You can’t reason with a shark. ‘Maybe you shouldn’t eat that seal, there aren’t many of them.’ No, they’re going to eat the seal.”

Helbraun’s frustration goes to the heart of a crisis facing the restaurant industry and so many others clobbered by the economic fallout of the coronavirus: the cost of real estate. In late July, Philadelphia’s all-day cafe High Street on Market announced it would close its longtime location in the Old City neighborhood because it simply couldn’t keep up with rent, which went up by $5,000 a month last October, says co-owner Ellen Yin. The restaurant struggled to make ends meet during mandated closures and months of lost business, and the landlord — whom Yin declined to name — wouldn’t budge or offer any concessions. (The property’s real estate agent refused to identify the landlord and would not give comment to Eater.) “I told him we were in a really difficult position,” Yin says. “‘It’s difficult to be a restaurateur in this situation, and while I understand you have expenses, I need help.’” Even though High Street had paid its rent in full through August 1, the only assistance she was offered was a promise not to raise rent when the lease came up for renewal in October. A day after Yin informed the landlord that they were vacating, they were sent a termination letter via certified mail. The space is already listed for rent online, starting in October.

High Street on Market isn’t the only popular restaurant to announce closure recently. Other high-profile restaurants and bars — including Uncle Boons and Banty Rooster in New York City and the Summer Place and Flights in the Bay Area — cite the challenges of paying rent and inflexible landlords as key reasons for closing. Space for kitchens, dining rooms, and bars is incredibly expensive for entrepreneurs and small businesses — typically between 6 to 10 percent of gross revenue, according to Paul Pruitt, an industry consultant in LA — especially during a pandemic that’s led to mandatory shutdowns and a steep drop in customers.

Industry figures are baffled as to why many landlords don’t want to negotiate some sort of rent relief, especially when they face an uncertain future as well. After all, they have their own mortgages to pay, and it seems unlikely, if not impossible, that they will find new tenants as the pandemic, and its economic effects, continue.

Many involved in these rent relief negotiations cite an array of factors that dictate a landlord’s willingness to negotiate, including the landlord-tenant relationship, the financial position of the landlord, and perceptions about the industry’s future. There are some instances where reduced rent comes with the deal. Leases for property in malls and large shopping centers have what’s called co-tenancy clauses. If an anchor client like Macy’s goes under, or a certain number of stores in the development close, then other tenants have the right to pay reduced rent due to the loss of foot traffic. Landlords in these situations may seek out a deal to provide relief to restaurant owners to avoid renegotiations and bigger losses. Sadly, clauses addressing pandemics aren’t common business practice.

“There are going to be people who are inflexible for whatever reason, and some that understand a restaurant can only do so much, that no customers means no tenants and it’ll be difficult to rent the space,” says Yin.

To be fair, not every landlord is playing hardball. Most “know they can’t get blood from a stone,” says Stephen Boyd, a senior director at Fitch Ratings. They want to preserve the income they can and set up deals with tenants that allow them to eventually recoup their losses. In Chicago, El Che Steakhouse has been able to work with landlords (who also happen to be investors), and Bay Area chain Wrecking Ball Coffee was given half-off rent by landlords for all three of its locations, with the balance due at an unspecified future date. Other landlords may want to budge, but can’t, says Milford Jones, the operator of Sellingrestaurants.com and a national broker who sets up lease deals for restaurants. Many landlords’ mortgage deals with banks include covenants that forbid charging rent below a certain figure.

“Of course, then there are landlords who are just plain assholes,” says Jones. “They always think there’s another, better tenant out there.”

The size of the landlord can often determine their relative openness to rent relief. Big-name developers, who have lots of capital and understand the value restaurants and bars bring to their larger developments, tend to be flexible. Small mom-and-pop landlords, who may have one or just a handful or properties, are “real people,” Helbraun says; they don’t have the reserves right now to risk vacancy, and tend to have better relationships with tenants.

The real trouble, Helbraun says, are the mid-size property owners with a few dozen buildings. He calls them the shark pool; “cultivating a reputation for being tough and not budging is how they’ve survived in the past.”

Another key factor is the relationship restaurant owners have with their landlord. Paying rent on time is just 50 percent of the relationship, says Salar Sheik, a consultant with LA-based Savory Hospitality. Is the restaurant/tenant an amenity that drives foot traffic, a famous name that brings in business, a corporate chain with deep pockets and consistency, or a business with a grandfathered liquor license, a huge asset, that may be at risk if a property were to remain vacant in a downturn? That means more leniency.

Some landlords see the fallout from COVID-19 as a time to cull poor-performing restaurants and strike a better deal. Consider a small bistro that signed a deal two years ago in an up-and-coming neighborhood; the landlord, looking for a tenant to drive foot traffic in what may be a gentrifying neighborhood, offered a sweetheart deal for a five-year lease. If that bistro is looking to negotiate some rent breaks or deferment, the landlord may look at how much more he could charge a new tenant, and decide that refusing to provide a break — which may mean months of an empty storefront — will be more than made up by a new tenant paying higher rent.

“It’s kind of like chess, and your landlord is thinking, are you a king or a queen, or are you a pawn he can afford to lose to win the game?” says Sheik.

Finally, a landlord’s own financial cushion will play into their strategy. Those who own multiple properties or have cash reserves can afford to leave a handful empty if the majority of them are profitable. Jones says that some of the big corporate landlords are “brainless” and will just sit with retail and restaurant space empty for years.

“While everything else is dying, they still want these premium rents, and you just shake your head,” he says.

Some landlords are even bullish, says Pruitt. They see sidewalk dining proliferate (even though it can cover at best only 20 to 25 percent of previous income, says Helbraun). They know that Paycheck Protection Program loans from the CARES Act and Economic Injury Disaster Loans from the Small Business Association are out. They see this as a small slump; the world will get back on its feet again and people will want to eat out again. If that’s your perspective, maybe you’ll offer payment deferrals, but why forgive rent?

Restaurateurs are at a breaking point. Helbraun says that the stimulus money has run out for many of his clients, and it doesn’t look like there’s more forthcoming from D.C. Once they have to close, they may just put their furniture and fixtures in storage, wait until rents fall in line with what they think they should be paying, and try to start again. (Many seek to take advantage of New York City’s Law 1932-A, which exempts restaurants owners, among others, from personal liability if they have to declare bankruptcy due to COVID-19-related closures. That hasn’t stopped many landlords from threatening to sue anyways, say Helbraun.)

“Where does that leave landlords? Who knows?” he says. “I just assume they have so much money in their portfolios they can write it off and just wait until things get better.”

While struggling restaurant owners asking for rent breaks don’t have the high ground today, things may change. Pruitt points to the high number of restaurant closings in 2019 as signs of development saturation; when things begin to take shape post-COVID-19, there will be a mounting number of vacant spaces landlords will lease at steep discounts. Yin plans to relocate High Street on Market to a new location, and says she’s been approached by lots of brokers offering open space; it’s nice to be seen as a good potential tenant, she says, but to her, that also signals that there are a lot of vacancies and people interested in cutting deals.

“I think the tough stance from landlords is really denial,” says Adam Weisblatt, CEO at Los Angeles-based Last Word Hospitality. “Considering that retail is also in dire straits, I think many landlords aren’t facing up to the fact that their business model is broken.”

Weisblatt thinks leases will also be different: He foresees deals where tenants pay a base rate, and then a percentage based on net sales, with clauses clearly spelling out what happens during a pandemic or other such disasters. “What you’re seeing is creativity on the business side is as important as the branding and food side,” he says. “A landlord is your partner, whether you like it or not, so that relationship is important.”

Chefs and owners who can’t catch a break can perhaps take solace in the fact that, when the industry does start bouncing back, new restaurateurs will know exactly which landlords weren’t great partners in the past.

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/327tvGp via Blogger https://ift.tt/316M123

[brajeshupadhyay]

Urban India didn't care about migrant workers till 26 March, only cares now because it's lost their services: P Sainath

One of the most telling human stories to result from the COVID-19 outbreak and the resulting nationwide lockdown is that of stranded migrant workers. But theirs isn't a new story; it's taken a pandemic for urban India to take note of an issue that has remained an unseen aspect of the country's economy for much of its contemporary history. P Sainath, founder of People's Archive of Rural India (PARI) and Ramon Magsaysay Award recipient, has chronicled the migrant condition for several decades. In an interview, he details the current situation of workers, and the possible way forward.

Recently, 16 workers from MP were killed under a train in their sleep in Aurangabad. What does it say about us that our first reaction is to question why the dead workers were sleeping on the tracks, and not those who pushed them to walk home?

How many English publications even bothered to give names of the workers crushed under the train? They just had to go faceless, and nameless. That is our attitude towards the poor. If it had been a plane crash, you would have helplines giving information. Even if there had been 300 killed in the crash, their names would appear in the newspapers. But 16 poor guys from Madhya Pradesh, eight of them Gond Adivasis, who gives a shit? They were walking along those railway lines as a guide to home — to a station from where they hoped to get a train home. They slept on the tracks because they were exhausted and probably believed there were no trains plying on those lines.

With a workforce as huge as the one in India, what do you think of the communication of governments to workers?

We gave a nation of 1.3 billion human beings four hours to shut down their lives. MG Devasahayam, one of our legendary civil servants, had said, "A small infantry brigade being pushed into a major action is given more than four hours notice." Whether or not we agree with the migrant workers, the rationale in leaving was absolutely sound. They know — and every hour we are proving — how untrustworthy, inconsiderate and cruel their governments, factory owners and middle-class employers like us are. And we are proving that with laws to restrict their freedom of movement.

You created panic. You sent the country into complete chaos with millions on the highway. We could have easily converted the marriage halls, schools and colleges and community centres that were shut down into shelter homes for migrants and homeless. We declared star hotels into quarantine centres for people returning from abroad.

When we arrange trains for the migrants, we charge them full fare. Then we put in AC trains and Rajdhani class fares of Rs 4,500. To make it worse, you say the tickets can be booked online, assuming they all have smartphones. Some of them buy those tickets. But in Karnataka, they cancel them because the chief minister meets the builders, who say the slaves are escaping. What you are witnessing is the quelling of an anticipated slave rebellion.

We have always had one standard for the poor, and one for others. Even though, when you list essential services, you are finding out that it is only the poor people who are essential, apart from doctors. Many of the nurses are not well-off. Besides them, there are sanitation workers, ASHA workers, aanganwadi workers, electricity workers, power sector workers, and factory workers. Suddenly you are finding how inessential the elite are to this country.

Migration has happened for decades. And their condition was terrible even before the lockdown. How do you see the way we treat our migrant workers in general?

There are many kinds of migrants. But you have to understand the class distinctions of migration. I was born in Chennai. I did my higher education in Delhi, where I lived for four years. I then migrated to Mumbai, and I have been living here for 36 years. Each shift I made benefited me because I come from a particular class and caste. I have social capital and networks.

There are long-term migrants, those who leave from A to B and remain permanently in B.

Then there are seasonal migrants. For example, the sugarcane workers in Maharashtra who migrate to Karnataka for five months and very significantly vice versa — work there and go back to their villages. There are migrants in Kalahandi who go to Raipur during tourist season and pull rickshaws. There are those who go from Koraput in Odisha to the brick kilns of Vizianagaram in Andhra Pradesh for some months.

There are other groups, too — but the people we should be most concerned with are what some of us call footloose migrant workers. The footloose migrant has no clear idea of a final destination. They will come with a contractor and work at a construction site in Mumbai for 90 days. At the end of that period, they have nothing. The contractor will then put them in touch with someone in some other part of Maharashtra, and bus them there. And that goes on indefinitely. That is a wretched life with total, unending insecurity. They are in millions.

When did the state of migrant workers begin to worsen?

Migrations have taken place for more than a century. But they have exploded in the past 28 years. The 2011 Census shows us that between 2001 and 2011, India saw its highest migrant flows — in our independent history.

The 2011 Census noted that for the first time since 1921, the number of people urban India added to its population was higher than the number of people rural India added to its population. The growth of rate of population is much smaller in urban areas, yet you have more people added to urban India’s population.

Go back and search for a panel discussion or interview with experts on television fully dedicated to these facts of the 2011 Census. How many discussed the migrant labourers and the intensity with which migrations happened from rural to urban, rural to rural, and so on?

Any discussion around migration is incomplete without rural distress, which is at the root of migration, right?

We smashed agriculture, and millions of livelihoods collapsed. Every other livelihood in the countryside has been savaged as well. Handlooms and handicrafts together are the biggest employers in the country after agriculture. Boatmen, fishermen, toddy tappers, toy makers, weavers, dyers; one after the other, they are going under like ninepins. What option did they have?

We are wondering if the migrant workers will come back to cities. Why did they come here in the first place?

I do believe the substantial number of migrant workers will come back to the cities. It will take a long time perhaps. But we have long ago destroyed the options they had in villages, ensuring our army of cheap labour.

How do you view the proposed relaxations of labour laws in several states?

First, it is an undermining of the Constitution and existing laws by ordinance. Second, it is an issuance of a bonded labour proclamation by ordinance. Third, it actually sets back the gold standard on working hours by 100 years. The most basic thing is every convention on labour in the world has respected the eight-hour work day.

Look at the Gujarat notification. It says that no overtime will be paid to the workers. The Rajasthan government provides for overtime pay for extra hours, but with a limit of 24 hours a week. The workers will work 12 hours a day for the straight six days.

All of these things have been done quoting exemptions and exceptions in the Factories Act. It says the maximum number of hours a worker can be asked to work — including overtime — is 60 hours. At 12 hours a day, these are coming to 72.

More importantly, the workers have no say whether they want to do the extra hours or not. There is an assumption that productivity goes up with longer working hours. But it goes against many studies done in history. A lot of factories in the past century adopted the 8-hour day because their surveys showed them that productivity dropped off strongly in the extra-long hours because of fatigue and exhaustion.

Regardless of that, it is an attack on basic human rights. It is an enslavement of labour. The states are essentially acting as a contractor, dalal procuring bonded labour for the corporations. Be sure this will affect the weakest sections — Dalits, Adivasis and women — the most.

Ninety-three percent of the workers in India have no rights that they are able to enforce anyway because they work in the informal sector. You are trying to say, "Let us destroy the rights of the remaining seven percent as well". The states are arguing that investment will come with the change in labour laws. But investment comes to places where there are also better infrastructure, better conditions and generally a stable society. If Uttar Pradesh had been any of that, it would not be the state from where largest number of workers migrate across India.

What could be the consequences of this move?

​Uttar Pradesh and Madhya Pradesh have suspended all labour laws for three years, barring three or four laws that they cannot get around because of the constitutional and legal complexities. You are saying it doesn't matter how miserable the conditions are, the labourers have to work. You are dehumanising people and are saying that they are not entitled to the rights of ventilation, toilets and breaks. This is an ordinance by chief ministers and there is no legislative process behind this.

What do we need to do going forward?

You absolutely need to improve the conditions of labour in the country. The pandemic affects them the way it does because of the gigantic inequalities in our society. What we are doing is a violation of very many international labour conventions that we are party to.

BR Ambedkar saw this clearly. He understood that it wasn’t just about government that we have to talk. We have to talk about workers being at the mercy of business. The states are suspending laws that he helped bring in, that he laid the grounds for.

We have a labour department in state governments. What should its role be?

The role of the labour department in the state should be to protect the rights of the labourers. But you have a union labour minister who is also appealing to the workers to listen to the corporations. You want something to change, you have to change your social contract. If you cannot address one of the most unequal societies on the planet, you can’t do anything about it. It will get worse — and very rapidly.

Most of the workers going back home are young, and angry. Are we sitting on a volcano?

The volcano is exploding. We are trying to not look at it. See the hypocrisy of the governments, media, factory owners and us as a society.

Till 26 March, we never knew about the migrant labourer. Suddenly, we see millions of them in the streets. And we feel the pinch because we have lost our services. We didn’t give a damn until March 26. We didn't think of them as human beings with equal rights.

There is an old saying: When the poor become literate, the rich lose their palanquin bearers. Suddenly, we lost our palanquin bearers.

How do the migrations particularly affect women and children?

It is particularly devastating for women and children. Wherever there is contraction of nutrition, women and girl children are the biggest sufferers. And they are incredibly more vulnerable in health terms. There are ways young girls suffer that rarely are thought about let alone mentioned. Millions of girls in schools across the country are entitled to free sanitary napkins — suddenly the schools are shut, no alternatives provided for. So millions are returning to unhygienic alternatives

What about the difficulties of migrant workers walking back home?

Migrant workers have often walked long distances. For example, the migrant workers walk back to South Rajasthan from their factory or middle-class employers in Gujarat.

But they did that in different circumstances.

They walk 40 kilometres, stop at a dhaba or a tea stall, work there, and get a meal in return. In the morning, they will leave. Next big bus station — they do the same. That is how they earn their way back home. With all of those places closed, they are exposed to dehydration and hunger, diarrhoea and other diseases.

What should we do in the future to improve their condition?

A complete delinking and breaking with the path of development we have chosen, and a massive attack on inequality. The sufferings of the migrant workers arise from their unequal situation.

You cannot do it without realising the importance of "justice for all: Social, economic, and political…" Embedded in your Constitution. And it is not an accident that social and economic precede political. I think there was a clear sense of priority in those people who wrote it. Your Constitution tells you the way.

The Indian elite and government really think that we can go back to business as usual, and that belief is going to lead to incredible oppression, suppression and violence.

via Blogger https://ift.tt/3cskLhL

[easyfoodnetwork]

George Wirt/Shutterstock Property owners with bullish views and big cash reserves see no reason to give tenants any breaks Every day, David Helbraun feels like banging his head against the wall. A founding partner and chairman at Helbraun Levey, a New York City-based hospitality law firm with more than 1,000 clients in the city alone, the former entrepreneur and coffee bar owner is struggling to help restaurant owners desperate after months of COVID-19-related closures, restrictions, and income loss. The biggest obstacle, he says, is landlords who would rather see a restaurant space remain vacant, bringing in no money, than negotiate partial payments and rent relief for tenants. Currently, the firm is handling lease negotiations for more than 200 clients. “Why is this happening?” he says. “My gut tells me that the real estate market in New York is shark-infested waters, and the landlords who grew up and do business in these shark-infested waters have to be sharks themselves. You can’t reason with a shark. ‘Maybe you shouldn’t eat that seal, there aren’t many of them.’ No, they’re going to eat the seal.” Helbraun’s frustration goes to the heart of a crisis facing the restaurant industry and so many others clobbered by the economic fallout of the coronavirus: the cost of real estate. In late July, Philadelphia’s all-day cafe High Street on Market announced it would close its longtime location in the Old City neighborhood because it simply couldn’t keep up with rent, which went up by $5,000 a month last October, says co-owner Ellen Yin. The restaurant struggled to make ends meet during mandated closures and months of lost business, and the landlord — whom Yin declined to name — wouldn’t budge or offer any concessions. (The property’s real estate agent refused to identify the landlord and would not give comment to Eater.) “I told him we were in a really difficult position,” Yin says. “‘It’s difficult to be a restaurateur in this situation, and while I understand you have expenses, I need help.’” Even though High Street had paid its rent in full through August 1, the only assistance she was offered was a promise not to raise rent when the lease came up for renewal in October. A day after Yin informed the landlord that they were vacating, they were sent a termination letter via certified mail. The space is already listed for rent online, starting in October. High Street on Market isn’t the only popular restaurant to announce closure recently. Other high-profile restaurants and bars — including Uncle Boons and Banty Rooster in New York City and the Summer Place and Flights in the Bay Area — cite the challenges of paying rent and inflexible landlords as key reasons for closing. Space for kitchens, dining rooms, and bars is incredibly expensive for entrepreneurs and small businesses — typically between 6 to 10 percent of gross revenue, according to Paul Pruitt, an industry consultant in LA — especially during a pandemic that’s led to mandatory shutdowns and a steep drop in customers. Industry figures are baffled as to why many landlords don’t want to negotiate some sort of rent relief, especially when they face an uncertain future as well. After all, they have their own mortgages to pay, and it seems unlikely, if not impossible, that they will find new tenants as the pandemic, and its economic effects, continue. Many involved in these rent relief negotiations cite an array of factors that dictate a landlord’s willingness to negotiate, including the landlord-tenant relationship, the financial position of the landlord, and perceptions about the industry’s future. There are some instances where reduced rent comes with the deal. Leases for property in malls and large shopping centers have what’s called co-tenancy clauses. If an anchor client like Macy’s goes under, or a certain number of stores in the development close, then other tenants have the right to pay reduced rent due to the loss of foot traffic. Landlords in these situations may seek out a deal to provide relief to restaurant owners to avoid renegotiations and bigger losses. Sadly, clauses addressing pandemics aren’t common business practice. “There are going to be people who are inflexible for whatever reason, and some that understand a restaurant can only do so much, that no customers means no tenants and it’ll be difficult to rent the space,” says Yin. To be fair, not every landlord is playing hardball. Most “know they can’t get blood from a stone,” says Stephen Boyd, a senior director at Fitch Ratings. They want to preserve the income they can and set up deals with tenants that allow them to eventually recoup their losses. In Chicago, El Che Steakhouse has been able to work with landlords (who also happen to be investors), and Bay Area chain Wrecking Ball Coffee was given half-off rent by landlords for all three of its locations, with the balance due at an unspecified future date. Other landlords may want to budge, but can’t, says Milford Jones, the operator of Sellingrestaurants.com and a national broker who sets up lease deals for restaurants. Many landlords’ mortgage deals with banks include covenants that forbid charging rent below a certain figure. “Of course, then there are landlords who are just plain assholes,” says Jones. “They always think there’s another, better tenant out there.” The size of the landlord can often determine their relative openness to rent relief. Big-name developers, who have lots of capital and understand the value restaurants and bars bring to their larger developments, tend to be flexible. Small mom-and-pop landlords, who may have one or just a handful or properties, are “real people,” Helbraun says; they don’t have the reserves right now to risk vacancy, and tend to have better relationships with tenants. The real trouble, Helbraun says, are the mid-size property owners with a few dozen buildings. He calls them the shark pool; “cultivating a reputation for being tough and not budging is how they’ve survived in the past.” Another key factor is the relationship restaurant owners have with their landlord. Paying rent on time is just 50 percent of the relationship, says Salar Sheik, a consultant with LA-based Savory Hospitality. Is the restaurant/tenant an amenity that drives foot traffic, a famous name that brings in business, a corporate chain with deep pockets and consistency, or a business with a grandfathered liquor license, a huge asset, that may be at risk if a property were to remain vacant in a downturn? That means more leniency. Some landlords see the fallout from COVID-19 as a time to cull poor-performing restaurants and strike a better deal. Consider a small bistro that signed a deal two years ago in an up-and-coming neighborhood; the landlord, looking for a tenant to drive foot traffic in what may be a gentrifying neighborhood, offered a sweetheart deal for a five-year lease. If that bistro is looking to negotiate some rent breaks or deferment, the landlord may look at how much more he could charge a new tenant, and decide that refusing to provide a break — which may mean months of an empty storefront — will be more than made up by a new tenant paying higher rent. “It’s kind of like chess, and your landlord is thinking, are you a king or a queen, or are you a pawn he can afford to lose to win the game?” says Sheik. Finally, a landlord’s own financial cushion will play into their strategy. Those who own multiple properties or have cash reserves can afford to leave a handful empty if the majority of them are profitable. Jones says that some of the big corporate landlords are “brainless” and will just sit with retail and restaurant space empty for years. “While everything else is dying, they still want these premium rents, and you just shake your head,” he says. Some landlords are even bullish, says Pruitt. They see sidewalk dining proliferate (even though it can cover at best only 20 to 25 percent of previous income, says Helbraun). They know that Paycheck Protection Program loans from the CARES Act and Economic Injury Disaster Loans from the Small Business Association are out. They see this as a small slump; the world will get back on its feet again and people will want to eat out again. If that’s your perspective, maybe you’ll offer payment deferrals, but why forgive rent? Restaurateurs are at a breaking point. Helbraun says that the stimulus money has run out for many of his clients, and it doesn’t look like there’s more forthcoming from D.C. Once they have to close, they may just put their furniture and fixtures in storage, wait until rents fall in line with what they think they should be paying, and try to start again. (Many seek to take advantage of New York City’s Law 1932-A, which exempts restaurants owners, among others, from personal liability if they have to declare bankruptcy due to COVID-19-related closures. That hasn’t stopped many landlords from threatening to sue anyways, say Helbraun.) “Where does that leave landlords? Who knows?” he says. “I just assume they have so much money in their portfolios they can write it off and just wait until things get better.” While struggling restaurant owners asking for rent breaks don’t have the high ground today, things may change. Pruitt points to the high number of restaurant closings in 2019 as signs of development saturation; when things begin to take shape post-COVID-19, there will be a mounting number of vacant spaces landlords will lease at steep discounts. Yin plans to relocate High Street on Market to a new location, and says she’s been approached by lots of brokers offering open space; it’s nice to be seen as a good potential tenant, she says, but to her, that also signals that there are a lot of vacancies and people interested in cutting deals. “I think the tough stance from landlords is really denial,” says Adam Weisblatt, CEO at Los Angeles-based Last Word Hospitality. “Considering that retail is also in dire straits, I think many landlords aren’t facing up to the fact that their business model is broken.” Weisblatt thinks leases will also be different: He foresees deals where tenants pay a base rate, and then a percentage based on net sales, with clauses clearly spelling out what happens during a pandemic or other such disasters. “What you’re seeing is creativity on the business side is as important as the branding and food side,” he says. “A landlord is your partner, whether you like it or not, so that relationship is important.” Chefs and owners who can’t catch a break can perhaps take solace in the fact that, when the industry does start bouncing back, new restaurateurs will know exactly which landlords weren’t great partners in the past. from Eater - All https://ift.tt/327tvGp

http://easyfoodnetwork.blogspot.com/2020/08/landlords-lose-money-when-restaurant.html

[brajeshupadhyay]

One of the most telling human stories to result from the COVID-19 outbreak and the resulting nationwide lockdown is that of stranded migrant workers. But theirs isn't a new story; it's taken a pandemic for urban India to take note of an issue that has remained an unseen aspect of the country's economy for much of its contemporary history. P Sainath, founder of People's Archive of Rural India (PARI) and Ramon Magsaysay Award recipient, has chronicled the migrant condition for several decades. In an interview, he details the current situation of workers, and the possible way forward. Recently, 16 workers from MP were killed under a train in their sleep in Aurangabad. What does it say about us that our first reaction is to question why the dead workers were sleeping on the tracks, and not those who pushed them to walk home? How many English publications even bothered to give names of the workers crushed under the train? They just had to go faceless, and nameless. That is our attitude towards the poor. If it had been a plane crash, you would have helplines giving information. Even if there had been 300 killed in the crash, their names would appear in the newspapers. But 16 poor guys from Madhya Pradesh, eight of them Gond Adivasis, who gives a shit? They were walking along those railway lines as a guide to home — to a station from where they hoped to get a train home. They slept on the tracks because they were exhausted and probably believed there were no trains plying on those lines. With a workforce as huge as the one in India, what do you think of the communication of governments to workers? We gave a nation of 1.3 billion human beings four hours to shut down their lives. MG Devasahayam, one of our legendary civil servants, had said, "A small infantry brigade being pushed into a major action is given more than four hours notice." Whether or not we agree with the migrant workers, the rationale in leaving was absolutely sound. They know — and every hour we are proving — how untrustworthy, inconsiderate and cruel their governments, factory owners and middle-class employers like us are. And we are proving that with laws to restrict their freedom of movement. You created panic. You sent the country into complete chaos with millions on the highway. We could have easily converted the marriage halls, schools and colleges and community centres that were shut down into shelter homes for migrants and homeless. We declared star hotels into quarantine centres for people returning from abroad. When we arrange trains for the migrants, we charge them full fare. Then we put in AC trains and Rajdhani class fares of Rs 4,500. To make it worse, you say the tickets can be booked online, assuming they all have smartphones. Some of them buy those tickets. But in Karnataka, they cancel them because the chief minister meets the builders, who say the slaves are escaping. What you are witnessing is the quelling of an anticipated slave rebellion. We have always had one standard for the poor, and one for others. Even though, when you list essential services, you are finding out that it is only the poor people who are essential, apart from doctors. Many of the nurses are not well-off. Besides them, there are sanitation workers, ASHA workers, aanganwadi workers, electricity workers, power sector workers, and factory workers. Suddenly you are finding how inessential the elite are to this country. Migration has happened for decades. And their condition was terrible even before the lockdown. How do you see the way we treat our migrant workers in general? There are many kinds of migrants. But you have to understand the class distinctions of migration. I was born in Chennai. I did my higher education in Delhi, where I lived for four years. I then migrated to Mumbai, and I have been living here for 36 years. Each shift I made benefited me because I come from a particular class and caste. I have social capital and networks. There are long-term migrants, those who leave from A to B and remain permanently in B. Then there are seasonal migrants. For example, the sugarcane workers in Maharashtra who migrate to Karnataka for five months and very significantly vice versa — work there and go back to their villages. There are migrants in Kalahandi who go to Raipur during tourist season and pull rickshaws. There are those who go from Koraput in Odisha to the brick kilns of Vizianagaram in Andhra Pradesh for some months. There are other groups, too — but the people we should be most concerned with are what some of us call footloose migrant workers. The footloose migrant has no clear idea of a final destination. They will come with a contractor and work at a construction site in Mumbai for 90 days. At the end of that period, they have nothing. The contractor will then put them in touch with someone in some other part of Maharashtra, and bus them there. And that goes on indefinitely. That is a wretched life with total, unending insecurity. They are in millions. When did the state of migrant workers begin to worsen? Migrations have taken place for more than a century. But they have exploded in the past 28 years. The 2011 Census shows us that between 2001 and 2011, India saw its highest migrant flows — in our independent history. The 2011 Census noted that for the first time since 1921, the number of people urban India added to its population was higher than the number of people rural India added to its population. The growth of rate of population is much smaller in urban areas, yet you have more people added to urban India’s population. Go back and search for a panel discussion or interview with experts on television fully dedicated to these facts of the 2011 Census. How many discussed the migrant labourers and the intensity with which migrations happened from rural to urban, rural to rural, and so on? Any discussion around migration is incomplete without rural distress, which is at the root of migration, right? We smashed agriculture, and millions of livelihoods collapsed. Every other livelihood in the countryside has been savaged as well. Handlooms and handicrafts together are the biggest employers in the country after agriculture. Boatmen, fishermen, toddy tappers, toy makers, weavers, dyers; one after the other, they are going under like ninepins. What option did they have? We are wondering if the migrant workers will come back to cities. Why did they come here in the first place? I do believe the substantial number of migrant workers will come back to the cities. It will take a long time perhaps. But we have long ago destroyed the options they had in villages, ensuring our army of cheap labour. How do you view the proposed relaxations of labour laws in several states? First, it is an undermining of the Constitution and existing laws by ordinance. Second, it is an issuance of a bonded labour proclamation by ordinance. Third, it actually sets back the gold standard on working hours by 100 years. The most basic thing is every convention on labour in the world has respected the eight-hour work day. Look at the Gujarat notification. It says that no overtime will be paid to the workers. The Rajasthan government provides for overtime pay for extra hours, but with a limit of 24 hours a week. The workers will work 12 hours a day for the straight six days. All of these things have been done quoting exemptions and exceptions in the Factories Act. It says the maximum number of hours a worker can be asked to work — including overtime — is 60 hours. At 12 hours a day, these are coming to 72. More importantly, the workers have no say whether they want to do the extra hours or not. There is an assumption that productivity goes up with longer working hours. But it goes against many studies done in history. A lot of factories in the past century adopted the 8-hour day because their surveys showed them that productivity dropped off strongly in the extra-long hours because of fatigue and exhaustion. Regardless of that, it is an attack on basic human rights. It is an enslavement of labour. The states are essentially acting as a contractor, dalal procuring bonded labour for the corporations. Be sure this will affect the weakest sections — Dalits, Adivasis and women — the most. Ninety-three percent of the workers in India have no rights that they are able to enforce anyway because they work in the informal sector. You are trying to say, "Let us destroy the rights of the remaining seven percent as well". The states are arguing that investment will come with the change in labour laws. But investment comes to places where there are also better infrastructure, better conditions and generally a stable society. If Uttar Pradesh had been any of that, it would not be the state from where largest number of workers migrate across India. What could be the consequences of this move? ​Uttar Pradesh and Madhya Pradesh have suspended all labour laws for three years, barring three or four laws that they cannot get around because of the constitutional and legal complexities. You are saying it doesn't matter how miserable the conditions are, the labourers have to work. You are dehumanising people and are saying that they are not entitled to the rights of ventilation, toilets and breaks. This is an ordinance by chief ministers and there is no legislative process behind this. What do we need to do going forward? You absolutely need to improve the conditions of labour in the country. The pandemic affects them the way it does because of the gigantic inequalities in our society. What we are doing is a violation of very many international labour conventions that we are party to. BR Ambedkar saw this clearly. He understood that it wasn’t just about government that we have to talk. We have to talk about workers being at the mercy of business. The states are suspending laws that he helped bring in, that he laid the grounds for. We have a labour department in state governments. What should its role be? The role of the labour department in the state should be to protect the rights of the labourers. But you have a union labour minister who is also appealing to the workers to listen to the corporations. You want something to change, you have to change your social contract. If you cannot address one of the most unequal societies on the planet, you can’t do anything about it. It will get worse — and very rapidly. Most of the workers going back home are young, and angry. Are we sitting on a volcano? The volcano is exploding. We are trying to not look at it. See the hypocrisy of the governments, media, factory owners and us as a society. Till 26 March, we never knew about the migrant labourer. Suddenly, we see millions of them in the streets. And we feel the pinch because we have lost our services. We didn’t give a damn until March 26. We didn't think of them as human beings with equal rights. There is an old saying: When the poor become literate, the rich lose their palanquin bearers. Suddenly, we lost our palanquin bearers. How do the migrations particularly affect women and children? It is particularly devastating for women and children. Wherever there is contraction of nutrition, women and girl children are the biggest sufferers. And they are incredibly more vulnerable in health terms. There are ways young girls suffer that rarely are thought about let alone mentioned. Millions of girls in schools across the country are entitled to free sanitary napkins — suddenly the schools are shut, no alternatives provided for. So millions are returning to unhygienic alternatives What about the difficulties of migrant workers walking back home? Migrant workers have often walked long distances. For example, the migrant workers walk back to South Rajasthan from their factory or middle-class employers in Gujarat. But they did that in different circumstances. They walk 40 kilometres, stop at a dhaba or a tea stall, work there, and get a meal in return. In the morning, they will leave. Next big bus station — they do the same. That is how they earn their way back home. With all of those places closed, they are exposed to dehydration and hunger, diarrhoea and other diseases. What should we do in the future to improve their condition? A complete delinking and breaking with the path of development we have chosen, and a massive attack on inequality. The sufferings of the migrant workers arise from their unequal situation. You cannot do it without realising the importance of "justice for all: Social, economic, and political…" Embedded in your Constitution. And it is not an accident that social and economic precede political. I think there was a clear sense of priority in those people who wrote it. Your Constitution tells you the way. The Indian elite and government really think that we can go back to business as usual, and that belief is going to lead to incredible oppression, suppression and violence.

http://sansaartimes.blogspot.com/2020/05/urban-india-didnt-care-about-migrant.html