Mohamad Torokman/Reuters

Demonstrators take part in a protest following the death of Nizar Banat, a Palestinian parliamentary candidate who criticized the Palestinian Authority and died after being arrested by PA security forces, in Ramallah in the Israeli-occupied West Bank, June 24, 2021.

In an explosion of pent-up frustration against a leadership they see as both illegitimate and failing, Palestinian protesters are braving a violent crackdown by Palestinian Authority security forces to demand the departure of President Mahmoud Abbas.

The pressure on the aging Mr. Abbas, which has been building for years amid high unemployment, curbed freedoms, and failures on the world stage, rose dramatically in the wake of canceled parliamentary elections and clashes with Israel over Jerusalem and Gaza.

But a turning point for the increasingly confident and emboldened protesters came with the death of Nizar Banat. The Abbas critic and candidate for parliament, who was in his 40s, was attacked and beaten in his home by Palestinian Authority (PA) security services last Thursday and died in custody one hour later.

Demonstrations erupted immediately across the West Bank and have continued daily against the rule of Mr. Abbas, who protesters say bears responsibility for the killing and for increasing PA corruption and ineffectiveness. Mr. Abbas’ four-year term as president officially expired in January 2009.

“They killed Nizar Banat because he spoke out,” says a 27-year-old protester who identifies himself as AE at a Ramallah protest Sunday. “I didn’t always agree with what he said, but when they killed him in this brutal way, it was a message that they wanted us all to shut up.

“The Palestinian Authority, predominantly Fatah, has put itself in the situation as an enemy of the people,” AE said shortly before being accosted by plainclothes agents in front of a Monitor correspondent.

The Monitor could not locate AE or confirm his status after the incident.

“Like they fear nothing”

Mr. Banat’s killing is being seen by most Palestinians as violating an unwritten code of solidarity, particularly in the West Bank, whereby disagreements among political rivals have been settled primarily through dialogue, and political killings and assassinations that mar other regional liberation movements are considered forbidden.

“Dissidents and critics, including outspoken journalists and human right activists, have been arrested and tortured before. We as human rights organizations have documented numerous cases,” says Salwa Hammad, a human rights defender at the Jerusalem Legal Aid and Human Rights Center.

“But this is unprecedented not only in its brutality, but in the way [the security forces] felt entitled to carry out such an execution,” she says. “It is like they fear nothing.”

Nasser Nasser/AP

Palestinian riot police and security officers in plainclothes clash with demonstrators following a rally protesting the death of outspoken Palestinian Authority critic Nizar Banat, in the West Bank city of Ramallah, June 26, 2021.

Fearing a new phase of autocratic Palestinian leadership contrary to their values, West Bank residents are pushing back.

“There is a question whether this is an aberration, a one-time event, or the reflection of an increasing direction towards a fascist, violent way to settle internal disputes and opposition,” says Daoud Kuttab, an Amman-based Palestinian analyst and writer. “This is why the killing is a big issue for many people.”

Observers say they see parallels to the Arab Spring in Egypt.

“The bad economic conditions, the high unemployment, the lack of horizon for youth, and the authoritative regime are all the ingredients for a possible explosion,” says Jehad Harb, a Ramallah-based political analyst.

“This moment is very similar to the boiling point that erupted into the Arab Spring in 2011.”

Journalists targeted

Like Arab dictators in 2011, Mr. Abbas has responded with unprecedented repression. Peaceful protesters have been tear-gassed and clubbed, and plainclothes security personnel unleashed to tackle and bludgeon protesters with rocks and pipes.

The PA has accused protesters of being supporters of the Islamist Hamas, Gaza’s rulers and Fatah’s rival; or “collaborators with U.S. and European powers” bent on “harming the Palestinian cause.” Mr. Abbas has not reached out to Mr. Banat’s family or promised an independent investigation.

In recent days the security services have specifically targeted journalists, beating them, destroying their camera equipment, and forcibly removing their camera and phone SIM cards to delete any records of their violence.

Local journalists have been forced to hide from roaming armed gangs of Abbas supporters, finding refuge in bathroom stalls in office buildings.

Yet the protests have only intensified and spread from the administrative capital of Ramallah outside Jerusalem to Bethlehem and Hebron in the southern West Bank, in what some Palestinians are calling an “open rebellion” against PA rule. Protesters hold signs reading “Leave” in Arabic, echoing the popular revolutions in Tunisia and Egypt 10 years ago.

Many Palestinians are contrasting Mr. Abbas’ relative silence and inaction on the unrest in Jerusalem in May with his quick crackdowns on criticism in the West Bank now. On Friday, prayer-goers demonstrated at Al-Aqsa Mosque, denouncing Mr. Abbas as “the traitor.”

The pressure prompted the leftist Palestinian People’s Party to withdraw Saturday from the PA government, headed by Mr. Abbas’ Fatah movement, in protest against the violence and “its lack of respect for laws and public freedoms.”

“The polarization is scary,” says Majd Abdel Hamid, a Palestinian activist in Beirut. “I’m not surprised they would kill [Mr. Banat],” Mr. Abdel Hamid says of the security forces, but adds that he is surprised they are doubling down and beating protesters, refusing to apologize or investigate Mr. Banat’s death.

Built-up pressures

Mr. Banat, who frequently accused Mr. Abbas of corruption on social media, was a candidate for parliamentary elections that were slated for May but were suspended indefinitely by Mr. Abbas over claims Israel would restrict voting in Jerusalem.

Observers say that by denying Palestinians the ability to voice their grievances and views through the ballot box, Mr. Abbas, whose nom de guerre is Abu Mazen, only increased the pressures that erupted with Mr. Banat’s killing.

“Elections would have released domestic pressure, but also would have provided a road map for succession,” says Mr. Kuttab.

“Abu Mazen is 85; there is no real process for succession after the cancellation of the elections, and the leadership no longer has the mandate to act or negotiate in Palestinians’ names,” he says.

Palestinians, although increasingly unhappy with the PA and Mr. Abbas’ rule, had long been reluctant to criticize the leadership or challenge it for fear of exposing internal divisions and hurting their national cause of ending the Israeli occupation.

Alex Brandon/AP

Secretary of State Antony Blinken speaks with Palestinian President Mahmoud Abbas, May 25, 2021, in the West Bank city of Ramallah.

In recent years, only young Palestinians have openly defied Mr. Abbas and the PA, calling for greater democracy and freedoms in Arab Spring-inspired movements in the 2010s. Such calls failed to gain traction among society at large and faced repression by the PA.

Yet Mr. Banat’s killing has pushed the older generations and middle-class Palestinians, traditional supporters of Fatah and Mr. Abbas, to join protests against his rule.

They are emboldened, some say, by the resurgence of Palestinian activism this summer to counter planned Israeli evictions of Palestinians from homes in East Jerusalem and the Israeli police incursion into Al-Aqsa Mosque, the third holiest site in Islam.

Only now their activism and energy are being focused at an increasingly autocratic Palestinian president who they now identify as part of their problems, an obstacle on their path to rights, statehood, and liberation.

In a sign of the changing tide in public opinion, prominent Palestinian figures joined 100 civil society organizations in issuing a joint statement on Saturday calling on Mr. Abbas to step down, for replacing the heads of the PA security forces, and for the formation of a national unity government to pave the way for elections.

Hamas vs. Fatah

The crisis comes as Mr. Abbas is in a bitter fight for relevance with Hamas, whose 11-day war with Israel in response to the strife in Jerusalem boosted its support among the Palestinian public.

In a June 15 poll by the Ramallah-based Palestinian Center for Policy and Survey Research, rating the performance of 10 local and regional actors during the Jerusalem crisis, 89% of Palestinians said the response of Jerusalemites was “excellent,” while 75% said the same of Hamas.

Yet a mere 11% rated the PA government’s response as “excellent,” and only 8% said that of Mr. Abbas.

Hamas also overtook Fatah as the party of choice of potential voters; 40% of Palestinians polled said they would vote for Hamas in legislative elections, compared with 30% for Mr. Abbas’ Fatah.

Such pressure may be one reason, Palestinian observers say, that Mr. Abbas and the PA are resorting to blatant and very public acts of repression.

It remains unclear how effective popular protests will be in pressuring Mr. Abbas to reform or resign.

Fatah retains a stranglehold on the West Bank, and the president can summon multiple security services – all trained and armed by the international community – and his party’s armed wing.

Mr. Abbas also has built a patronage network of thousands of families that rely on PA salaries and Palestinian government-awarded contracts who would be hesitant to see him leave.

“It all depends on whether the international community will put pressure on Abbas to reform and put his house in order,” says Mr. Kuttab.

“If they give Abbas a pass for this killing, it becomes a slippery slope.”

When then-President Nelson Mandela inaugurated South Africa’s highest court in February 1995, he issued a stern warning to its justices.

“People come and go. Customs, fashions, and preferences change. Yet the web of fundamental rights and justice which a nation proclaims must not be broken,” he said at the opening of the Constitutional Court. “It is the task of this court to ensure that the values of freedom and equality which underlie our … constitution are nurtured and protected so that they may endure.”

Twenty-six years later, on a bright winter’s day in Johannesburg, the country watched as that same court faced a fundamental reckoning over those values. Would it order the arrest of the country’s former President Jacob Zuma, who had repeatedly shrugged off a government corruption inquiry in which he was heavily implicated? Or would it let Mr. Zuma, a former liberation fighter with a wide following among the country’s poor and marginalized people, off the hook?

The court was unequivocal.

“Never before has this Court’s authority and legitimacy been subjected to the kinds of attacks that Mr. Zuma has elected to launch against it and its members,” acting Deputy Chief Justice Sisi Khampepe said Tuesday, reading from the judgment to a courtroom kept nearly empty by a third wave of the coronavirus pandemic. “His attempts to evoke public sympathy through unfounded allegations fly in the face of reason and are an insult to constitutional dispensation for which so many men and women fought and lost their lives.”

Mr. Zuma’s time was up, she said. The former president, who didn’t attend the hearing, has five days to turn himself in and begin 15 months in jail.

Never before has a former South African head of state been sentenced, and for many, that historic judgment symbolizes that no one here, however powerful, is above the law.

“It’s about accountability, because when you’re a government official you’re accountable to the people of the country,” says Shenilla Mohamed, executive director of Amnesty International South Africa. “The judgment has given hope to the people of South Africa that justice will be served and the people responsible will not escape the net of the law.”

For Mr. Zuma’s many supporters, however, the decision reads differently. This is scapegoating, they say, a smokescreen to deflect attention from the real issues the young country faces: rampant poverty, inequality, and widespread government mismanagement that has left many of its public services broken and underfunded. 

AP

Former South African President Jacob Zuma addresses supporters outside the High Court in Pietermaritzburg, South Africa, May 26, 2021, where he faced charges of corruption. On June 29, Mr. Zuma was sentenced to 15 months in jail for contempt of court.

“He is unjustly being targetted,” wrote the Mkhonto We Sizwe Military Veterans Association, an organization of former liberation fighters that has vowed to “protect” Mr. Zuma from arrest. “He was one of the most prominent liberation fighters and ANC political leaders, who gave his all for our current National Constitution to be adopted, and he cannot allow that the very same constitution is being abused,” the group said in a statement.

Mr. Zuma has long been a symbolic figure in South African politics. A guerrilla fighter in the country’s liberation movement, he never formally attended school. Where the presidents who preceded him, Mr. Mandela and Thabo Mbeki, spoke crisp, formal English and courted the country’s white elite, Mr. Zuma preferred to speak in Zulu and had no qualms about the fact that his people were the country’s poor, Black majority.

“Apartheid denied Black people education and Zuma represents that, and relates to that,” says Asanda Ngoasheng, a political analyst in Cape Town. “In a world where everyone is Westernized, he appeals to many people because he speaks about the pride he takes in his own culture.”

But from his earliest days in national politics, Mr. Zuma has also been embroiled in scandal. He was sacked as the country’s deputy president in 2005 for taking and facilitating bribes in a major government arms deal in the 1990s. But he retained wide support among those who felt he was being victimized by an out-of-touch political elite, and in 2009 he was elected president.

Under Mr. Zuma’s tenure, South Africans watched as many of their public services were hollowed out by corruption – with the most notable accusations against the Guptas, a family of Indian businessmen with close ties to Mr. Zuma and his administration. There were other scandals too, like a dubious $17 million upgrade to Mr. Zuma’s private homestead on the taxpayer’s dime. (He later paid back a portion of the money.)

In 2016, the country’s public protector – the country’s anticorruption ombudsman – called for Mr. Zuma to set up a commission of inquiry into what she called “state capture,” or the corrupt takeover of government institutions by outside interests.

He allowed the commission to go forward, but when it called Mr. Zuma himself to testify in 2019, after his presidency had ended, he refused to answer its questions, and eventually walked out. The country’s Constitutional Court ordered him to return, warning he would be in contempt of court if he did not.

He didn’t come back. Instead, he wrote a long letter to the chief justice, explaining that the case against him was “an extraordinary abuse of judicial authority to advance politically charged narratives.”

Tuesday’s order for Mr. Zuma’s arrest referred to his open hatred for the courts, arguing that it threatened the foundations of South Africa’s democracy.

“The vigor with which Mr. Zuma is peddling his disdain of this Court and the judicial process carries the further risk that he will inspire or incite others to similarly defy this Court, the judicial process and the rule of law,” Justice Khampepe read from the judgment.

Mr. Zuma still faces corruption charges for his dealings in the 1999 arms deal, in a case widely expected to go to trial later this year.

With the country under lockdown to slow a third wave of the coronavirus, reaction to his sentence for contempt of court was muted. But many echoed the sentiment of political commentator Oscar van Heerden.

“Today,” he wrote in The Daily Maverick, “it feels good to be South African.”

AP

Protesters rally during an anti-government demonstration in Ljubljana, Slovenia, June 25, 2021. Several thousand people rallied against Slovenia's right-wing Prime Minister Janez Janša, reflecting mounting political pressure weeks before the country takes over the European Union's rotating presidency.

On a map of Europe, you could easily overlook Slovenia. Tucked in among Italy, Austria, Hungary, and Croatia, it’s roughly the size of New Jersey. But the country is worth watching these days, and not just for its Alpine beauty.

It’s because of rising opposition to Janez Janša, the fulsome Donald Trump admirer who is prime minister. And the shifting public mood in Slovenia reflects broader head winds now buffeting right-wing populists elsewhere in Europe – the self-styled “illiberal democrats” ruling Hungary and Poland, and the main far-right standard-bearers in Germany and France.

It’s too early to say if the trend will last. That may well depend on whether more centrist politicians manage to reconnect with the voters who have fueled the rise of Europe’s ultranationalist, anti-immigrant, anti-minority populists in recent years.

But the political weather does seem to be changing for two main reasons – one local and one global.

On the domestic front, COVID-19 has reshaped the political landscape. It has drawn voters’ attention away from the populists’ hot-button attacks on immigration or minority groups, and shifted their focus onto how well their governments have dealt with the pandemic. Voters have also become increasingly aware of everyday policy issues spotlighted by the pandemic such as family security, health, and jobs.

One result: unexpected setbacks for Europe’s most prominent far-right opposition groups, the Alternative für Deutschland in Germany and Marine Le Pen’s Rassemblement Nationale in France. In early June, the AfD finished a distant second to retiring Chancellor Angela Merkel’s party in a state election in the group’s east German political heartland. It was a disappointing result for the AfD in its last electoral test before September’s national election.

A post-election poll found most voters were less interested in the AfD’s call for stricter immigration laws than in bread-and-butter economic issues and jobs.

Olivier Matthys/AP

Slovenian Prime Minister Janez Janša talks to journalists in Brussels June 25, 2021, shortly before his country takes over the rotating European Union presidency for six months. His squabbles with Brussels, alliance with populist Hungarian leader Viktor Orbán, and increasingly autocratic policies are sparking growing dissatisfaction at home.

In French regional elections last Sunday, Ms. Le Pen’s RN failed to capture a single council, despite polls suggesting it might win as many as five. Reading the long-term significance of that is tricky, since fewer than one-third of voters bothered to cast a ballot, but Ms. Le Pen proved unsuccessful in appealing to her normally enthusiastic base.

At the global geopolitical level, Europe’s populists have lost two key international allies – former U.S. President Trump and more recently, long-serving Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu.

In Mr. Trump, they had a political soulmate in the White House. But Mr. Netanyahu’s departure carried an even more dispiriting message, especially for the ruling East European populists: He was ousted by an alliance of parties across the political spectrum.

Others are following that example. In Hungary, where Prime Minister Viktor Orbán’s Fidesz Party has long benefited from a divided opposition, six parties have now banded together to try to unseat him in next spring’s parliamentary elections.

Poland’s ruling Law and Justice Party is not due to face a national election until 2023. But with its poll numbers eroding, it changed tack last year to champion traditionally more left-of-center priorities like higher tax rates for the wealthy.

Still, it’s Slovenian leader Janša whose fate provides the most dramatic sign of the new political atmosphere in Europe, and it was on full display this past weekend in the capital, Ljubljana.

Outside the parliament building, the government celebrated the 30th anniversary of Slovenia’s independence from Yugoslavia, and its ascension this week to the rotating six-month presidency of the European Union. 

But a few streets away, thousands of protesters were staging the latest in a series of rallies that began last year.

The pandemic has been one spur. But what seems to be animating the demonstrators most is the angry, divisive nature of Mr. Janša’s rule – conveyed largely via Twitter – and his moves to limit media criticism.

It was Mr. Janša who responded to Mr. Trump’s premature declaration of victory last Nov. 6 by hailing his “re-election,” and he later echoed Mr. Trump’s accusations of fraud.

Before the U.S. election, he had been looking forward to his stint in the EU chair as a stage for a triumphant piece of political theater, with Mr. Trump and his Slovenian-born wife, Melania, as leading players at a U.S.–EU summit in Brussels.

That’s obviously no longer going to happen. And one recent local poll suggested that his government’s popularity is plummeting, with just 30% of respondents voicing support, and 66% wanting it replaced in next year’s elections.

Mr. Janša’s immediate political prospects do not look bright. But the longer-term picture in Slovenia and elsewhere in Europe will probably not depend on Mr. Janša and his ilk. Rather it is likely to hinge on their centrist rivals, and whether they can make a sufficiently compelling case for a less angry, less confrontational, and more inclusive brand of leadership.

On a typical July 1, communities across Canada light up in a sea of red and white as fireworks fill the sky and residents gather to celebrate Canada Day, often described as the Canadian Fourth of July.

But this year, with the recent discovery of the remains of hundreds of Indigenous children at former residential schools designed to eliminate their cultures, many cities and towns now plan to scale back or cancel Canada Day celebrations outright to make space for those grieving the lost.

For Indigenous communities, the cruel reality of residential schools has long been a well-known truth, one that has rippled through their families time and time again. But for non-Indigenous Canadians, the revelations have delivered a reckoning that many say is long overdue.

It has brought many of them to grapple with the same questions that Indigenous peoples have been asking for decades: How do we weigh the good of Canada’s past – the things that deliver a sense of national pride – against the bad? Should the country behind these atrocities even be celebrated?

Judy Wilson is one of the many Indigenous leaders who thinks that Canada Day should be canceled. She is kúkpi7 (chief) of the Neskonlith Indian Band, located just 30 miles from the Kamloops Indian Residential School in Kamloops, British Columbia, where the remains of 215 Indigenous children were found in late May. That discovery was followed by the location of 751 unmarked graves at the Marieval Indian Residential School in Marieval, Saskatchewan, last week.

“What is there to celebrate at this point?” she asks. “How do you move forward with such horrific genocide – continued genocide – where it’s been known but not really spoken of or taken seriously outside of [Indigenous] communities?”

Ms. Wilson’s perspective is not uncommon among Indigenous people. Indeed, Canada Day itself is already not widely celebrated in First Nations, and some, including Ms. Wilson, reject Canadian identity entirely, describing their relationship to Canada as “adversarial.”

Similar friction between Indigenous peoples and the countries that colonized their homelands can be seen around the world. In the United States, many Native Hawaiians view the Fourth of July as a reminder of their loss of sovereignty at the hands of the American government. Likewise, Native Americans often observe a National Day of Mourning in place of Thanksgiving, reconfiguring a holiday they view as a celebration of the theft of their lands into one that honors their ancestors.

Not time to celebrate?

Although the calls to cancel Canada Day are not new, this is the first time that municipal governments are taking direct action. A few prominent cities, like Victoria and Fredericton – the capitals of British Columbia and New Brunswick, respectively – have heeded the advice of Indigenous partners and canceled their Canada Day festivities.

“How could we have a celebration when our neighbors – on whose homelands [Victoria] was built – were suffering?” Victoria Mayor Lisa Helps said in a statement to the press. “And how could we hold a Canada Day celebration without the Lekwungen people who have been part of the event for the last decade?”

Courtesy of Idle No More

An Indigenous advocate speaks at a Cancel Canada Day rally in Vancouver, British Columbia, on July 1, 2020. More than 50 cities and towns have opted to cancel their Canada Day celebrations this year.

In total, more than 50 municipalities across Canada have canceled July 1 celebrations, according to Indigenous rights group Idle No More.

However, not everyone shares such views, especially outside Indigenous communities. A Leger poll found that a large majority of Canadians oppose canceling Canada Day celebrations, and most major Canadian cities – including Toronto, Montreal, and Ottawa, the Canadian capital – have kept their existing plans in place. Some critics, including British Columbia Premier John Horgan and Conservative leader Erin O’Toole, have argued that the calls to cancel Canada Day celebrations are counterproductive and have likened them to “cancel culture.”

“If you look at the definition of reconciliation, what it means is to bring two parties back together. [Canceling Canada Day] goes against the definition of reconciliation,” says Ellis Ross, former Haisla Nation chief councilor and a Liberal member of British Columbia’s provincial parliament.

Mr. Ross pointed at Kamloops as an example, where Rosanne Casimir, kúkpi7 (chief) of the Tk’emlúps te Secwépemc – the nation that found the unmarked graves at the Kamloops residential school – is collaborating with the city to “incorporate messaging into this year’s virtual Canada Day event that will encourage education on Indigenous culture and heritage,” according to a statement released by the city.

“Canada is a good country, and I don’t think we should be tearing it apart,” Mr. Ross says. “We should be thinking, ‘How do we build it up together?’”

But for Sara Cadeau, an Idle No More organizer of Anishinaabe descent, canceling Canada Day and recognizing the past and present flaws in Canada’s colonial system is a necessary part of building the country up. She is co-leading a #CancelCanadaDay rally in Vancouver on July 1 with fellow Idle No More organizer and Nehiyaw hip-hop artist Dakota Bear, one of many protests taking place across the country. 

Spearheaded by Idle No More and building off the same event from last year, the movement aims to amplify the work of Indigenous leaders, inspire non-Indigenous people to action, and “start a peaceful revolution,” according to Mr. Bear.

“We cannot fix ourselves until we acknowledge what’s broken,” Ms. Cadeau says. “It’s better to focus on the beautiful and rebuild what’s beautiful. It’s important to empower everyone to take their roles and responsibilities, whatever they may be. … That being said, we are under a constant whack-a-mole. Every single time they give some half-cooked apology, they’re out there … trying to disempower Indigenous leadership. They’re out there right now, smashing on Indigenous people who are protecting [the environment].”

“We will continue to stand and rise … as long as this duplicity is ongoing,” she adds. “Part of that is not celebrating Canada Day.”

When New York City became the epicenter of the COVID-19 pandemic last year, Barbara Anderson, a middle school teacher, saw her Upper West Side neighborhood changing all around her. Neighbors left the city, unemployment rose, and long-standing shops closed their doors, leaving blocks of empty storefronts in their wake. 

“Every day, seeing more and more empty storefronts, it was kind of just like, well, what do I tell my students?” recalls Ms. Anderson. “‘If you see a problem you can sit and complain or you can try to do something about it.’” 

So she decided to do something about it. 

Last June Ms. Anderson founded Art on the Ave, which creates free exhibits in New York City neighborhoods by using empty storefronts as gallery space. It’s a solution that connects the new problem of abandoned storefronts with a long-standing one – a somewhat insular art scene that Art on the Ave makes more accessible for patrons and artists alike. 

“You can have the talent, but how do you put your art out there for people to see? You have to have a lot of contacts in New York,” says Paola Bermudez, an artist who participated in the first exhibit, called “Healing,” on the Upper West Side, as well as the current exhibit – “Awakening” in the West Village.

“Art on the Ave has been this blessing for me,” says Ms. Bermudez, who has lived in New York since moving here from Colombia a decade ago. “My artistic career just got launched in an amazing way.”

Passersby can scan a QR code on the storefront window to hear the artists talk about their work. They can also find links to purchase the artwork – all of which must be priced under $5,000 – directly from the artists, as well as links to the property owners’ websites. The artists must be New York-based and almost 40% of them thus far are members of minority groups. 

The “Healing” exhibit, which ran from November 2020 through January 2021, showcased 55 works of art by 41 artists across 12 storefronts. More than a dozen pieces sold, earning roughly $60,000 for the local artists. The current exhibit “Awakening,” which runs through early July, features 28 works in 13 locations in the West Village. More than a dozen pieces have already sold in the second exhibit, earning more than $32,000 for the participating artists. 

Ms. Bermudez sold both of her pieces shown in the Upper West Side exhibit. Between the two exhibits, she has had at least three commissions come from locals calling about a piece of art they saw in a storefront window. 

Ann Hermes/Staff

Barbara Anderson moves Xian Eley's "Emergence," an oil painting that was sold from a vacant shop in New York City's West Village. Works must be priced less than $5,000 to be included in shows. Art on the Ave's third show is being planned for the fall in lower Manhattan.

Although New York City lifted all COVID-19 restrictions mid-June, “For Rent” signs still line the city’s streets.

According to a recent study by the city government, vacancy rates were climbing even before the pandemic, due to high rents and shifting retail trends. An average of 2017 and 2018 data suggests more than 1 in 10 storefronts were empty, and COVID-19 only accelerated these trends, with retail space rent hitting record lows in late 2020 across much of New York City.

Bleecker Street, for example, is one of the busiest, most popular streets in one of the most popular neighborhoods. On one block with 17 storefronts, seven are empty. The potential to fill those spaces confirmed Ms. Anderson’s idea that the Art on the Ave project could expand citywide.

And while New York City is expected to rebound from COVID-19-induced vacancies, Ms. Anderson feels confident that Art on the Ave can continue in the future. The city’s retail space will never be rented 100%, and both of their exhibits have also had active businesses participate, as store managers see the potential for more foot traffic and a way to engage with the local community. 

The Art on the Ave team is currently accepting submissions for their third exhibition – “Resiliency” – scheduled this fall in lower Manhattan to coincide with the 20-year anniversary of the 9/11 terrorist attacks. 

But landlords’ willingness to participate varies, says Ms. Anderson. They are not paid rent. Planning can be difficult as some properties do get rented during an exhibit. Several times when this has happened, however, a property owner will suggest moving the artwork to a vacant location nearby. 

“What I’d like to say to other landlords is, ‘This really is as easy as it sounds,’” says Pauline Oudin, who owns a townhouse in the West Village. “There’s nothing to lose by doing this.”

Ms. Oudin and her family live upstairs while renting out the ground floor. The nail salon that was renting the space closed during the pandemic, but now four paintings line the shop’s windows. Ms. Oudin says she’s interviewed several potential tenants and thinks the Art on the Ave exhibit has initiated some of these conversations by allowing renters to get a better sense of what the space could look like when occupied.

And three of the four paintings in Ms. Oudin’s windows have already sold. 

Down the street at another stop, Ms. Anderson sees an empty soda can on the ground. She lets out a sigh and pulls a plastic bag out of her purse. Using the bag as a barrier between her hand and the New York City sidewalk, Ms. Anderson bends down and picks up the can as well as other litter scattered in front of a storefront’s large “For Rent” sign. 

“While the art is here, I try to take care of this space,” she says. “For now, this is a gallery.”

Reuters

Sandra Presley attends a job fair for restaurant and hotel workers in Torrance, California,

As the pandemic eases in the United States, many employers are scrambling to find workers. In April, a record number of Americans quit their jobs. Worldwide, 40% of employees are ready to resign, according to Microsoft Research. Many seek a better work-life balance or simply more pay. But amid this workplace churn, companies are also recognizing what already exists in their current employees: an eagerness and potential to learn new skills in order to create new opportunities.

A survey in May by Prudential Financial found nearly half of American workers say the pandemic has caused them to reevaluate their skill sets. About 1 in 5 have put a greater priority on pursuing education or learning a new skill. Of those that plan to leave their jobs, 6 in 10 have sought training on their own since the start of the pandemic.

These numbers reflect a mass retooling of the capabilities of Americans. Companies such as JPMorgan Chase and Walmart have responded by offering new training that helps employees do their jobs better (“upskilling”) or learn a new field of skills (“reskilling”). In May, for example, Levi Strauss & Co. offered workers an eight-week course in digital skills to help the clothing giant adjust to a rapid increase in customers buying online. 

Overall, more than two-thirds of U.S. companies began last year to invest in reskilling or upskilling to deal with the effects of the pandemic, according to a survey by TalentLMS, a company that offers online training. One reason, according to the consulting firm McKinsey, is that it can cost far more to recruit a new employee compared with the cost of reskilling an internal employee.

Employers also seem less impressed by a job applicant’s formal education. In the past year, LinkedIn has recorded a 21% rise in U.S. job postings that promote a person’s skills instead of their qualifications. And the number of job openings that don’t require a degree rose by nearly 40%.

Even before the pandemic, a survey by the World Economic Forum found the pace of change in industries will require more than half of employees to acquire new skills by 2025. Two of the top essential skills, according to the survey, are active learning and innovative thinking. The world may already be well on its way to meet the 2025 target.