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criminal justice system
How Racist Legislation From 30 Years Ago Laid the Foundation for Trump’s ICE Terror
The Ilegal Immigration Reform and Immigration Responsibility Act of 1996 cast the very act of immigrating to the United States as potentially criminal, creating the concept of “criminal alienhood.
Oct 15, 2026
Under President Donald Trump, immigration enforcement agencies have launched a massive campaign of terror against immigrant families with raids, detentions, and deportations unequaled in recent history.
The effects of the president’s assault on immigrants is plain to see. But many people have forgotten that key parts of the legal infrastructure, and the very language around immigration and criminality to which we have become so accustomed, were built long before his administration.
Key foundations to Trump’s racist anti-immigrant policies were laid 30 years ago when the Clinton administration passed the Illegal Immigration Reform and Immigration Responsibility Act of 1996 (IIRAIRA).
Undoing IIRAIRA and its harmful consequences must be part of a broader plan to undo the tangle of laws that treat immigration as a pre-crime, and to dismantle the Department of Homeland Security and its punitive and militarized tools.
IIRAIRA cast the very act of immigrating to the United States as potentially criminal, creating the concept of “criminal alienhood.” The law vastly expanded the consequences on immigration status for convictions or for committing violations. It also blocked immigration judges in many cases from granting case-by-case protection to very sympathetic immigrants who had unusual circumstances.
Part of President Bill Clinton’s “tough on crime” wave of legislation in the 90s, IIRAIRA allowed immigration enforcement agencies to treat immigrants as criminals and laid the groundwork for the racist anti-immigrant policies we’re seeing today. IIRAIRA also created the 287(g) program, authorizing local police to arrest and detain immigrants on behalf of immigration enforcement agencies—which Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) has used to terrorize immigrants across the country under the Trump administration.
IIRAIRA greatly increased the list of triggers for immigration penalties, as well as making them more vague. What started out as a focus on the worst offenses ballooned to sweep up lower-level offenses. IIRAIRA made it much harder for immigrants to apply for asylum and established grounds for detaining and deporting many more immigrants—including permanent legal residents. This included a bar on reentry for deported immigrants, and making reentry a criminal offense, which further criminalizes immigrants and which is currently the top charge for immigration prosecutions.
Another harm we can trace back to the passage of IIRAIRA is the legal framework the law created for mass detention without due process. The United States now has the largest immigration detention system in the world in which millions of people have been detained without guaranteed access to legal representation and in often inhumane conditions. As of July 2026, over 65,000 people were being held in ICE detention and—similarly to those already deported—over 70% had no criminal convictions.
Each administration after Clinton expanded the category of offenses for which immigrants could be detained and deported. By the Obama administration more than 20 categories of crimes were grounds for deportation. At the same time, criminal law and immigration law started working in tandem, in a process legal scholars dubbed “crimmigration.”
With the growth of “deportable offenses” came the rise in rhetoric that intertwined immigrants and criminality, despite repeated statistical studies showing lower crime commission rates among immigrants than among the native-born. By the time Trump said in his 2015 presidential campaign launch that Mexican immigrants were “bringing drugs… Bringing crime” and called them “rapists,” the US public had been well primed to associate criminality with immigrants.
In the decades since the passage of IIRAIRA, LatinoJustice PRLDEF and other immigrant rights organizations have repeatedly challenged both the perception of immigrants as criminals, and the laws and practices that have created the criminal charge-to-deportation express pipeline we are experiencing today. We brought our first case challenging 287(g) agreements in 2009, won $112 million last year for immigrants who had been illegally held in jail custody for handover to ICE, and filed our latest of these cases at the start of the current administration in 2025.
Over the past 30 years, IIRAIRA has frayed the fabric of our society by tearing apart families and criminalizing our immigrant neighbors. Undoing IIRAIRA and its harmful consequences must be part of a broader plan to undo the tangle of laws that treat immigration as a pre-crime, and to dismantle the Department of Homeland Security and its punitive and militarized tools. This is the only way we can once and for all have the immigration system we deserve.
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Reckoning With the Children Buried in 'Secret Cemeteries' Across the US
There are more than 1,000 graves of children who died in state custody that are slowly being identified, forcing the nation to confront legacies of racism and child exploitation.
Oct 12, 2026
Last year, Georgetown University’s Center for Youth Justice, broke the news that 230 or more incarcerated Black children died at the Maryland House of Reformation & Instruction for Colored Children. These children died and were buried between 1877-1939 in nearby unmarked graves. Last month, the Center released research finding that there are 40 similar “secret” burial sites in 29 states where over 1,000 children were buried after they died while under the care of youth institutions. The news went viral when shared in a Washington Post piece.
Georgetown University’s Center for Youth Justice undertook this research as part of the Forgotten Children Initiative launched back in February 2026. Back in 2023, the Maryland Department of Juvenile Services started to document and report how the department has functioned, including reckoning with histories of physical and emotional abuse, exploitative labor practices, and racial discrimination. The House of Reformation and Instruction for Colored Children, which was open and operational from 1870-1937, is just one example.
Georgetown University’s report indicates that House of Reformation served as the first reform school for delinquent Black children in the American South. The house was originally created by the Maryland General Assembly because Black children were sent to adult jails and state prisons for criminal offenses, some as light as running away from home. Maryland children were sent to the House of Reformation for many reasons—sometimes because they were orphaned or had lost a parent or did not have a parent deemed “fit” to care for them, because they lived in poverty or were unhoused or because they were accused of minor offenses.
This latest report reveals a devastating but not entirely unknown truth—that children continue to be exploited, killed, and buried in secrecy under the “protection” of the state and federal government.
Nineteenth century prison reformers argued that children should be placed in facilities that offered religious, vocational, and personal education, but despite this arguably white saviorist goal that these institutions not be places of punishment, reform schools like Maryland’s House of Reformation became places where children were pushed into overcrowded facilities without proper food and medical care. Many children were then forced to labor without pay (often solely to enrich the institutions rather than to teach them vocational skills), to live and work in isolation, or were subject to corporal punishment.
As Georgetown University’s report indicates, a child’s reform school experience was largely based on their race, class, and age. Black and white children were placed in segregated facilities, often also separated by gender. Young Black girls specifically were especially subject to sexual violence and assault in these facilities. As expected, reform schools—later called training schools, industrial schools, juvenile reformatories, and eventually juvenile detention centers—were radically different based on whether Black or white children were living and working there.
Because of the horrific working conditions; a systemic lack of medical care; and physical, emotional, and sexual abuse, hundreds of children died at these schools. Approximately 230 Black boys died at the Maryland House of Reform & Instruction while it was operational, and when they died, they were buried in hidden or unidentified graves, likely to cover up the rampant child abuse and death that occurred under the state’s watch. In fact, the secret cemetery was only discovered through a former Maryland Department of Juvenile Services staff member, and while the first section of the cemetery dating to the 19th century included headstones with the names of the boys buried at the site, the second section (dated from the early 20th century) only has rows of cinder blocks with no name or other identifiable information.
The Department of Juvenile Services is working to identify living relatives of the boys buried on site, restore and maintain the site to an official cemetery, and erect historical markers that acknowledge how children were exploited at the site. As the Forgotten Children Initiative report reads, “The overall goal was to properly honor the youth who died or were killed at the House of Reformation and are buried at the site, and provide a more holistic and accurate understanding of the racial inequities that we see today and help with efforts to reduce these inequities moving forward.” This is key because the Maryland Department of Juvenile Services runs the Cheltenham Youth Detention Center, a successor to the House of Reformation where almost 250 boys died and were buried in unmarked graves.
But as Georgetown University undertook this study, the researchers realized this was a much more widespread problem. More “secret cemeteries” have come to light, specifically at the Arthur G. Dozier School for Boys in Florida and the New York House of Refuge in New York. These are just three of hundreds of reform schools and institutions that received federal funding to effectively abuse children for decades. At its core, these reform schools were racist institutions meant to police, mold, and erase children of color across the country.
These patterns of child death and secretive burial are also deeply connected to Native American boarding schools throughout the United States and Canada. As Georgetown University’s latest report notes, there are more than 1,000 graves of children who died in state custody that are slowly being identified. The Forgotten Children Initiative questions how many more “secret cemeteries” will be discovered and how many will still be hidden to protect the state that literally enabled their deaths.
This research is part of a global reckoning about the outright murder and covert burial of children in state and religious-run youth institutions. This summer, survivors of Ireland’s Mother and Baby Homes and their allies rallied in downtown Cork against the impending development on the lands of the Bessborough Mother and Baby Institute where hundreds of infants and children are believed to be buried. These institutions, strikingly similar to those in the United States in the 1960s during the “Baby Scoop” era, were homes for unwed mothers who would have their babies in these facilities. Their children would then be adopted out to neighboring families or would be put into a religious-run institution where abuse and neglect were rampant.
To be clear, this still exists to this day with the Liberty Godparent Home where young, single, pregnant women are coerced into giving up their children to be adopted by affluent Christian families in exchange for a full tuition scholarship to Liberty University.
This violence is also indicative of a much larger history of the Prison Industrial Complex in the United States, where people whose bodies are not claimed or whose families cannot cover the expenses to prepare and bury their loved one, are buried in prison cemeteries with simple concrete slabs or metal markers with the incarcerated individual’s name rather than traditional headstones, or their bodies might be cremated and stored or scattered according to The Marshall Project. It’s one final denial of an incarcerated person’s humanity and dignity reminiscent of what the young Black boys at the House of Reformation experienced.
The children who died (or more accurately who were killed due to abuse and neglect in state-run institutions) are the direct ancestors of the modern Prison Industrial Complex. The Prison Industrial Complex tethers together histories of slavery and sharecropping with modern prison systems where prisoners are forced or coerced to work for subminimum wages, with no employee protection. Like modern juvenile detention centers and even group homes, the House of Reformation and other reform schools served as pipelines to prisons, keeping people of color incarcerated in systems of exploited labor for their entire lives.
It’s worth noting that the House of Reformation admitted its first occupants in 1873, only six years after Maryland had abolished slavery, so at least some of the first children admitted into the House of Reformation were formerly enslaved. During a time when courts were still segregated and Black Americans were systematically denied due process, any criminal accusation against a Black child (in the time before Emmett Till’s horrific lynching) would be difficult to fight. Even before (and after) Maryland outlawed slavery, free Black individuals could be easily declared unsuitable to raise their children under discriminatory statutes, forcing minors into unpaid indentured servitude under white masters and later these reform institutions.
This latest report reveals a devastating but not entirely unknown truth—that children continue to be exploited, killed, and buried in secrecy under the “protection” of the state and federal government. It will take decades if not centuries to locate or recover the remains of children, especially children of color, whose lives and deaths were erased by the state to cleanse itself of systemic violence, if all of these children can be found at all. But as more information comes to light, this news is indicative of a much longer, and darker American history of exploiting children, especially children of color, and how this violence continues in the modern juvenile detention and prison systems.
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Tennessee Planning Lethal Injection Despite ‘Barbaric’ Botched Execution of Another Inmate in May
"All the lawyers want to know is, will there be a qualified physician on staff?" said one advocate. "The state of Tennessee has refused to answer this question."
Aug 12, 2026
A lawyer for Anthony Darrell Hines, a man who was convicted of the 1985 murder of Catherine Jean Jackson Jenkins in Kingston Springs, Tennessee, said the state's Republican governor will force a "grotesque spectacle" to move forward on Thursday by refusing to stop Hines' planned execution despite a botched lethal injection involving another death row inmate in May.
The lawyer, Kit Thomas, noted that Hines, 66, has experienced muscular atrophy after several recent strokes, has been in a wheelchair or confined to his bed for eight months, and has stiffness in his arm that forces his hand to remain clenched in a fist—medical issues that could make it challenging for physicians and staffers to establish an IV line to administer lethal drugs.
Hines' medical condition particularly raises alarm considering the Tennessee Department of Correction's attempt to execute Tony Carruthers earlier this year in an ordeal that continued for an hour and 15 minutes before a warden intervened.
An IV team and a physician, later publicly identified as Dr. Mark Fowler, attempted to locate veins in Carruthers' arms, legs, feet, shoulder, hands, and finally his neck, causing what one witness called a "bloody mess" as the inmate remained strapped to a gurney, groaning in pain.
An attorney for Carruthers described the scene as "outright barbaric."
Thomas has asked the US Supreme Court to intervene to stop Hines' lethal injection.
Gov. Bill Lee granted a one-year reprieve to Carruthers, and Fowler was deposed by attorneys—a process during which he admitted he had not placed an IV line since 2013.
Thomas said the Department of Correction had violated its own protocol by appointing an unqualified doctor to carry out Carruthers' execution, and Hines' legal team expressed concern that the state has not disclosed whether Fowler will be involved in the inmate's planned lethal injection.
Last week, the Tennessee Supreme Court rejected Hines' request to force the state to confirm whether Fowler will be administering the drugs.
"It’s particularly horrifying to think of them lifting a partially paralyzed man from his hospital bed, which he’s lived in for the last eight months, then strapping him to a gurney, while executioners attempt to establish IV access," Thomas said.
The advocacy group Death Penalty Action delivered a petition to Lee's office last week calling on him to halt Hines' execution.
Hines' legal team has also expressed concern about the leadership of Frank Strada, who oversees executions for the Department of Correction and was previously deputy director of the Arizona Department of Corrections, Rehabilitation, and Reentry.
During his tenure in Arizona, the three executions that took place were "marked by prolonged and problematic attempts to establish IV access."
Thomas has also called on the state to confirm that officials have done quality control testing on the drugs scheduled to be used Thursday and ensured they were properly stored and handled. Nine Republican state senators, all of whom support capital punishment, wrote to Lee in June, urging an independent review of Carruthers' botched execution and "independent testing" of the lethal drugs the state plans to use before it attempts another execution.
"All the lawyers want to know is, will there be a qualified physician on staff? That's a very reasonable request for them to make," Robin Maher, executive director of the Death Penalty Information Center, told Fox 17 in Nashville. "The state of Tennessee has refused to answer this question, and the Tennessee courts have not forced them to answer. So everyone is in the dark and concerns are mounting."
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Peace Means We're Not Alone
Peace means embracing conflict, understanding it—through non-judgmental communication between everyone involved—and looking for ways to heal, rather than punish, any harm that has occurred.
Jul 26, 2026
Breathe deep, sigh, embrace the next word: W-A-R.
It doesn’t go away. I write about it far too often, and every time I do I feel torn inside... even though I remain personally safe from it (at least for now). Words can so easily turn the actions and consequences of war into abstractions, while failing to question why it exists at all. War is simply who we are. This is a hard certainty to shatter. But...
“Nothing exposes the bankruptcy of America’s approach to Iran more clearly than its return to more war as the answer to its own failures.”
So wrote Sina Toossi and Nancy Okail recently in The Nation. Their words start opening a deeper level of understanding, one that I’m groping for. They go on:
It is tempting to dismiss the war resumption as another example of Donald Trump’s impulsiveness. It is something deeper. Trump is less breaking with America’s approach to Iran than taking it to its logical conclusion.
The logical conclusion, as far as I can tell, is to declare victory and then start looking for the next enemy... the next evil that threatens us. This is “peace”: that brief moment of silence while everyone reloads, as someone once put it. In other words, war is inevitable and ongoing. It solves nothing. It changes nothing, except to intensify people’s hatred, toward “someone,” and their desire for revenge. It shatters connection. It shatters healing.
War’s primary function is to perpetuate itself. It’s a collective addiction to power: power over others, not with them. The enemy is always present and always dehumanized. And war doesn’t always manifest itself through militarism. Consider the criminal justice system, aka the prison system, for instance.
So let me restart this column. The word I want to embrace is: P-E-A-C-E.
Peace equals evolution. Peace means power with others, not over them. And it manifests in numerous, and often unnoticed, ways. Peace is complex and rarely produces great headlines. Over the years I’ve written about many different peace organizations, which exist in many different contexts.
In essence, peace means embracing conflict, understanding it—through non-judgmental communication between everyone involved—and looking for ways to heal, rather than punish, any harm that has occurred.
Here’s part of a column I wrote about 10 years ago, after I had attended a conference on “soul repair” in Des Moines, Iowa:
The community was out of control—the children, oh my God, the children, were sniffing gasoline and pretty much abandoning any pretense of a future—and the social and criminal-justice systems were just adding to the problem. Nothing was working.
“Our children slammed us against a brick wall," Burma Bushie said.
This is the story of a culture in shambles. It was the early ’80s. Bushie’s community is called the Hollow Water First Nation Reserve, a village of about 900 people in eastern Manitoba, more or less at the end of the highway. There was one road in and one road out.
They may have felt utterly isolated in their troubles, but what a few of them started to do—in synchronicity with people in other Indigenous communities—has spread hope and awareness across the planet. They began reaching beyond the known (i.e., Western) world, deep into their souls and into the roots of a lost way of life, to save their children and the future...
“Our children were acting out—not learning. That was our beginning," she said. "We couldn’t hide anymore. The Indian reservation-school system, the child welfare system—all these systems that came to help us more or less became our enemies."
The committed team of change-bringers began talking to one another about their own lives, as well as the troubles around them. They began addressing the issue of alcoholism, an obvious surface manifestation of far deeper matters. "Each time we cleared up one level, we found another," Bushie said. “When we got to sexual abuse—we knew that’s what we had to deal with...”
And it became a community process. When someone has been harmed, people sit in a circle as equals—victim, perpetrator, any others who are affected—and everyone has a chance to talk. When they’re not talking, they listen. There is only one goal: healing
Rupert Ross, who was at the conference with Burma Bushie, wrote about all this in his remarkable book, Returning to the Teachings. He had been a Canadian crown (i.e., prosecuting) attorney, and Hollow Water was part of his coverage area. His job was to prosecute offenders, send them to prison. He began to realize all this was doing was creating more damage to the community, and that Western “justice” had nothing to do with healing. It broke connections. It created bad guys and proceeded to dehumanize them.
He wrote, in his book: “The word ‘healing’ seems such a soft word, but, as I will show later, Hollow Water’s healing process is anything but soft. In fact, jail is a much easier alternative, because it does not require the victimizer to face the real truths about abuse.”
And this is peace: not a simplistic lull while enemies reload—that is to say, nothing at all—but the ongoing creation of a world that belongs to all of us. It’s also known as evolution.
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On World Refugee Day, Support Refugees, Don't Deport Them
The US dropped the bombs that forced Southeast Asian families to flee and is now deporting them back to the very land that is still littered with American bombs.
Jun 20, 2026
I was only an infant when my family slipped into a weathered wooden boat under the cover of darkness in 1978. Our journey across the mighty Mekong River was wrapped in an eerie, suffocating stillness as my parents, older brother, and I fled Laos. Whenever my mother recounts that night, she always ends with the same whispered awe: “It is a miracle you and Alex didn’t make a sound. I was terrified we wouldn’t make it.”
It would be decades before I fully grasped the terror of that treacherous crossing, the complex geopolitical forces at play, and the shared history between the US and my birth country that forced us out into the night.
I think of that river escape every year on World Refugee Day. It is a day to honor the immense courage of those forced to flee everything they know. For me, it is also a day that demands a deeply honest look at how we treat people once they arrive on our shores.
Following the violence that consumed Laos, Cambodia, and Vietnam in 1975, millions fled, culminating in the largest refugee resettlement in American history. We arrived first through sponsorship programs, and later through the Refugee Act of 1980, laying new roots across the US. Today, our Southeast Asian American community has grown to over 3 million, with vibrant enclaves from California to Minnesota, and my home here in Ohio.
Instead of tearing families apart here at home, the United States must commit to fully funding the removal of unexploded ordnance in Laos until the job is done.
My family is one of the lucky ones. After years of hardship, Columbus welcomed us and helped us plant our roots. Today, I am full of gratitude for my parents' sacrifice, and we are proud to give back through family businesses we built and by serving on nonprofit boards like the annual Columbus Asian Festival and Legacies of War.
Not every story mirrors ours.
Many Southeast Asian refugees were resettled in severely under-resourced, over-policed neighborhoods without the support necessary to heal from the invisible, lingering wounds of war. Forced to navigate poverty and systemic barriers, some young refugees became entangled in the criminal justice system. Decades later—long after they have served their time, rehabilitated, and built families—they are being subjected to a cruel double punishment.
Since 1998, over 17,000 Southeast Asians have received deportation orders. Many have lived here for decades; the United States is their chosen home, and often the only home they have ever known. Once someone is deported, there is almost no way back, severing families permanently. These policies do not make America safer. They merely manufacture new trauma, uprooting lives all over again.
The tragic irony of these deportations is impossible to ignore. We are sending refugees back to a country still littered with the very weapons that drove their families into the dark to begin with.
Laos remains the most heavily bombed country per capita in history. From 1964 to 1973, in a covert effort to destroy traffic along the Ho Chi Minh Trail, the US dropped at least 2.5 million tons of ordnance across 580,000 bombing missions. That is the equivalent of a planeload of bombs falling every eight minutes, 24 hours a day, for nine years. Even today, unexploded ordnance continues to claim civilian lives, with children making up over 60% of those harmed.
True accountability requires a different path. It requires cleaning up the remnants of war that America left behind in Laos and honoring the humanity of those who survived it. For decades, US programs have addressed these lasting legacies. These efforts not only save lives and support vulnerable communities, but they also bolster years of diplomatic progress in a region of immense strategic importance. Foreign aid is not charity—it is a strategic investment for our country. US assistance in Southeast Asia consistently garners bipartisan support precisely because it yields clear, tangible benefits: enhanced safety, economic stability, and strengthened bilateral cooperation.
Instead of tearing families apart here at home, the United States must commit to fully funding the removal of unexploded ordnance in Laos until the job is done. I urge members of Congress to join the UXO and Demining Caucus and support legislation like the Southeast Asian Deportation Relief Act. We must end this cycle of displacement and keep our communities whole.
The United States was forged by those seeking a better life. This enduring legacy is embodied by the Statue of Liberty, our "Mother of Exiles," who stands as a beacon of hope for people escaping persecution and war.
World Refugee Day was first celebrated 25 years ago. This year’s theme, "solidarity with refugees," calls on us to recognize that true compassion does not end at the border. It means standing by refugees as they build their lives, acknowledging the full weight of our shared past, and ensuring that no one who seeks refuge from danger is ever forced back into harm’s way.
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This Juneteenth, Remember That Organizing Is Key to Democracy
As corrupt leaders advance efforts to weaken democratic oversight and centralize power, we must activate our own agenda.
Jun 19, 2026
This Juneteenth arrives at a moment when many of the hard-fought gains of the civil rights movement feel undeniably fragile. The Supreme Court’s recent Louisiana v. Callais decision gave state lawmakers the green light to reduce Black voting power by redrawing congressional maps. Meanwhile, the SAVE America Act and other proof-of-citizenship efforts propose new burdens for millions of eligible voters—especially voters of color who are more likely to face difficulty accessing required records.
As Black Americans, this should concern us deeply. For years after the ratification of the 15th Amendment, our ancestors had to overcome poll taxes, literacy tests, grandfather clauses, and constant threats of violence to participate in our democracy. When Fannie Lou Hamer attempted to register to vote in Mississippi, she was fired from her job and forced from her home; Amzie Moore endured years of harassment and retaliation for helping Black Mississippians register to vote and build political power. But despite these hardships, they persevered.
Which is why one question continues to trouble me as a Black pastor and grassroots organizer: How did we move from a generation willing to risk everything for political participation to an overwhelming number of people believing participation doesn't matter?
Research shows that most Americans feel political leaders are out-of-touch with ordinary people, reflecting a deep and widespread sense that politics is reserved for an elite few. But we must remember that politics is simply the process of shaping the world around us—and by that definition, we are all politicians.
Organizing reminds people that change has always come from ordinary people deciding they have a stake in their own future.
At my organization, Live Free Illinois, we embrace our identities as politicians in our own right. For instance, in January, we successfully organized Gov. JB Pritzker to sign the Clean Slate Act, a transformational public safety bill that removes barriers to employment, housing, and education opportunities for people with past convictions. It took nearly five years of tireless organizing, but our bill crossed the finish line—and became a law with $5.6 million in funding to implement it. This victory makes clear that politics does not only belong to some unreachable class of leaders; it belongs to the people willing to organize and demand change.
Our ancestors did not organize because they believed the government was perfect. They organized because they understood that power would not listen unless it was confronted. They built churches, mutual aid networks, civic organizations, and political movements because they knew that liberation required disciplined collective action. That lesson is just as relevant today. The authoritarian forces seeking to diminish our democratic participation are counting on our exhaustion, our cynicism, and our disengagement. We cannot afford to give them any of those things.
That responsibility does not begin and end at the ballot box. It lives in church fellowship halls where neighbors gather to address violence in their communities, in voter registration drives after Sabbath, and in the courage of ordinary people who demand better from those in power. This may not look like the politics we’ve been taught to disdain, but they are among the most powerful political acts we can undertake. It is how our communities can transform shared concerns into lasting change.
I have spoken with many parishioners who have felt overwhelmed by the challenges facing our community. But when I encourage them to organize—to gather their neighbors, advance shared priorities, and demand accountability—something shifts. They begin to recognize that the power they were searching for was already in their hands. Organizing reminds people that change has always come from ordinary people deciding they have a stake in their own future.
Juneteenth is a timely reminder that our democracy demands more than participation; it demands organization. As corrupt leaders advance efforts to weaken democratic oversight and centralize power, we must activate our own agenda—and hold elected officials accountable to it. The future of our communities depends on whether we are willing to embrace that responsibility.
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There Is No Right Way for the State to Kill People
From noose to needle to nitrogen, our constant search for a more acceptable way to administer the death penalty is a story of failure—not moral progress.
May 31, 2026
As a long-time death penalty abolitionist, I’ve often compared the death penalty in America to a train with no brakes: Once the machinery starts moving, it becomes extraordinarily difficult to stop.
But the real problem is that the train should never have been built.
Today, Alabama, Louisiana, Mississippi, Oklahoma, and Arkansas are experimenting with nitrogen gas executions, a method officials claim is more humane. But from noose to needle to nitrogen, our constant search for a more acceptable way to kill is a story of failure—not moral progress.
There’s no acceptable way to practice a form of state killing that, for Black Americans especially, has long been intertwined with terror.
History should make us skeptical whenever governments begin searching for new technologies to make killing appear more acceptable.
Take my home state of Arkansas. Within a year of becoming a state in 1836, Arkansas adopted laws establishing a racial hierarchy by which even civilian whites could dispossess or punish a Black person. These codes even designated certain offenses as capital crimes when committed by Black people but lesser crimes when committed by white people.
The message was clear: Some lives were worth less than others.
That message echoed through the decades that followed. Between 1877 and 1950, Arkansas recorded 493 documented lynchings—the highest per capita rate in the nation. In Arkansas and throughout the South, these killings were not hidden crimes. They were public spectacles—acts of terror meant to reinforce social hierarchy.
Eventually, lynching became politically unacceptable. But state killing did not disappear—it simply changed form. The spectacle moved behind prison walls, and the language became more clinical. But the act of killing remained the same.
George Hays, who served two terms as governor of Arkansas, wrote in 1927 that “if the death penalty were to be removed from our statute-books, the tendency to commit deeds of violence would be heightened owing to the Negro problem. The greater number of the race do not maintain the same ideals as the whites.”
Since the Civil War, Arkansas has executed nearly 500 people—and 68% of those executed were Black or Native American. This is not distant history. Black inmates make up about 50% or more of the state’s death row today, despite Black Arkansans comprising less than 16% of the state’s total population.
Nor is Arkansas an outlier. Nationally, over half the people on death row today are Black or Hispanic.
Modern executions are often carried out by lethal injection, presented as sterile and humane. The condemned is strapped to a gurney while witnesses sit behind glass and chemicals stop the heart. But as these chemicals become less available, Arkansas and some other states have replaced lethal injection with nitrogen gas executions.
They claim the method is painless, but it is death by suffocation. Even veterinarians are forbidden from euthanizing cats and dogs with nitrogen hypoxia because it takes too long to lose consciousness and amounts to torture.
History should make us skeptical whenever governments begin searching for new technologies to make killing appear more acceptable. During the Holocaust, Nazi Germany constructed gas chambers designed to turn mass death into a technical process. This process was bureaucratic, hidden from public view, and deemed “efficient.”
Today, the death penalty follows a disturbingly similar logic. Each generation promises that the newest method will finally make execution humane. The noose. The electric chair. The gas chamber. Lethal injection. Now nitrogen gas.
Yet the fundamental act has never changed. The state still kills. The train keeps moving. Even when jurors change their minds. Even when victims’ families plead for mercy. Stopping the train requires courage—especially from elected leaders who have the power to do it.
Our history tells us what happens when a society accepts killing as justice. The death penalty has evolved for nearly two centuries, but there is only one real measure of moral progress: not how we kill, but whether we finally choose to stop.
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Different Faiths, One Moral Call: Why Mercy Must Prevail for Sonny Burton
As faith leaders, we walk alongside families in their pain, and we know this truth intimately: More death does not heal trauma. It only deepens it. As people of faith, we believe this moment calls for mercy.
Mar 04, 2026
As people of faith, a Muslim Imam, a Jewish Rabbi, a Protestant Pastor, and a Catholic Archbishop, we come from different traditions, yet we arrive at the same moral truth: The power to take a life must be exercised with profound humility, restraint, and reverence for human dignity. When irreversible harm is at stake, mercy is not weakness; it is moral strength. Across our faith traditions, we are taught that justice is not simply punishment. Justice divorced from mercy ceases to be just at all.
Our faiths teach that judgment ultimately belongs to God. Our responsibility is to protect life whenever possible, to act with compassion toward victims, and to refrain from violence when it is no longer necessary to protect society. Compassion for those who grieve is essential, as is humility about the limits of human judgment. God is God, and we are not.
Doug Battle’s life was taken, and that loss is permanent and devastating. We hold his family and loved ones in prayer, and we do not minimize their grief or the harm caused. Faith does not ask us to forget the victim, nor does it excuse the wrongdoing that led to this tragedy. Rather, it calls us to confront suffering truthfully to honor the life that was lost while resisting the belief that another death can restore what has been taken.
When those most deeply affected by violence, particularly a victim’s own family, call for mercy, faith asks us to listen with care. In this case, the victim’s daughter has publicly urged the governor to choose clemency, and 6 of the 8 original jurors, who once bore the responsibility of this decision, now support mercy in the form of clemency for Sonny Burton. Extreme punishment does not heal loss. It compounds it.
A system that knows when not to kill demonstrates wisdom, not weakness.
While Sonny Burton bears responsibility for his actions, faith traditions consistently teach that punishment must be proportionate to culpability. Capital punishment has long been understood, even by its supporters, as reserved for the most extreme acts of intent and responsibility.
Burton’s case brings this teaching into sharp focus. He did not pull the trigger that took a life, yet he faces execution while the state agreed to resentence the triggerman to life without parole and he later died in prison. In moments like this, faith calls us to examine not only what the law permits, but what conscience requires.
Clemency in such circumstances is not a failure of justice. It is a humane expression of justice, one that recognizes accountability while refusing to impose irreversible punishment where moral certainty is absent. Exercising restraint in such moments can strengthen, rather than weaken, public trust. A system that knows when not to kill demonstrates wisdom, not weakness.
In a situation such as this, where a non-shooter still faces death while the State resentenced the shooter to life without parole, prudence calls for restraint. This is not about being “soft on crime.” It is about being faithful to a vision of justice that is humane, measured, and worthy of public trust.
As faith leaders, we walk alongside families in their pain, and we know this truth intimately: More death does not heal trauma. It only deepens it. As people of faith, we believe this moment calls for mercy.
Governor Ivey, as people of faith, we respectfully ask you to choose humility over finality and mercy over irreversible harm. Clemency for Sonny Burton would not deny justice; it would affirm the sacred value of life.
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In Blow to 'Fetal Personhood' Push, Alabamian Serving 18 Years After Stillbirth Gets New Trial
"I'm hopeful that my new trial will end with me being freed, because I simply lost my pregnancy at home because of an infection," said Brooke Shoemaker, who has already spent five years in prison.
Dec 30, 2025
While Brooke Shoemaker and a rights group representing her in court are celebrating this week after an Alabama judge threw out her conviction and ordered a new trial, her case is also drawing attention to the dangers of "fetal personhood" policies.
"Laws and judicial decisions that grant fetuses—and in some cases embryos and fertilized eggs—the same legal rights and status given to born people, such as the right to life, is 'fetal personhood,'" explains the website of the group, Pregnancy Justice. "When fetuses have rights, this fundamentally changes the legal rights and status of all pregnant people, opening the door to criminalization, surveillance, and obstetric violence."
Since the US Supreme Court's Dobbs v. Jackson Women's Health Organization ruling ended the federal right to abortion in 2022, far-right activists and politicians have ramped up their fight for fetal personhood policies. Pregnancy Justice found that in the two years after the decision, the number of people who faced criminal charges related to their pregnancies hit its highest level in US history.
Shoemaker's case began even earlier, in 2017, when she experienced a stillbirth at home about 24-26 weeks into her pregnancy. Paramedics brought her to a hospital, where she disclosed using methamphetamine while pregnant. Although a medical examiner could not determine whether the drug use caused the stillbirth—and, according to Pregnancy Justice, "her placenta showed clear signs of infection"—a jury found her guilty of chemical endangerment of a minor. She's served five years of her 18-year sentence.
"After becoming Ms. Shoemaker's counsel in 2024, Pregnancy Justice filed a petition alongside Andrew Stanley of the Samford Law Office requesting a hearing based on new evidence about the infection that led to the demise of Ms. Shoemaker's pregnancy, leading the judge to agree with Pregnancy Justice's medical witness and to vacate the conviction," the rights group said in a Monday statement.
Lee County Circuit Judge Jeffrey Tickal wrote in his December 22 order that "should the facts had been known, and brought before the jury, the results probably would have been different."
Shoemaker said Monday that "after years of fighting, I'm thankful that I'm finally being heard, and I pray that my next Christmas will be spent at home with my children and parents... I'm hopeful that my new trial will end with me being freed, because I simply lost my pregnancy at home because of an infection. I loved and wanted my baby, and I never deserved this."
Although Tickal's decision came three days before Christmas, the 45-year-old mother of four remained behind bars for the holiday last week, as the state appeals.
"While we are thrilled with the judge's decision, we are outraged that Ms. Shoemaker is still behind bars when she should have been home for Christmas," said former Pregnancy Justice senior staff attorney Emma Roth. "She was convicted based on feelings, not facts. Pregnancy Justice will continue to fight on appeal and prove that pregnancies end tragically for reasons far beyond a mother's control. Women like Ms. Shoemaker should be allowed to grieve their loss without fearing arrest."
AL.com reported Tuesday that "Alabama is unique in that it is one of only three states, along with Oklahoma and South Carolina, where the state Supreme Court allows the application of criminal laws meant to punish child abuse or child endangerment to be applied in the context of pregnancy."
However, similar cases aren't restricted to those states. Pregnancy Justice found that in the two years following Dobbs, "prosecutors initiated cases in 16 states: Alabama, California, Florida, Idaho, Kentucky, Mississippi, Nebraska, New Mexico, Ohio, Oklahoma, Pennsylvania, South Carolina, South Dakota, Texas, Wisconsin, and Wyoming. While prosecutions were brought in all of these states, to date, the majority of the reported cases occurred in Alabama (192) and Oklahoma (112)."
This is fantastic news!!I wrote in my book how the medical examiner ruled the cause of the stillbirth "undetermined," but the coroner (who lacks medical training) instead listed cause of stillbirth as mom's meth usage on the fetal death certificate.
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— Jill Wieber Lens (@jillwieberlens.bsky.social) December 30, 2025 at 12:25 PM
"Prosecutors used a variety of criminal statutes to charge the defendants in these cases, often bringing more than one charge against an individual defendant," the group's report continues. "In total, the 412 defendants faced 441 charges for conduct related to pregnancy, pregnancy loss, or birth. The majority of charges (398/441) asserted some form of child abuse, neglect, or endangerment."
"As has been the case for decades, nearly all the cases alleged that the pregnant person used a substance during pregnancy," the report adds. "In 268 cases, substance use was the only allegation made against the pregnant person. In the midst of a wide-ranging crisis in maternal healthcare and despite maternal healthcare deserts across the country, prosecutors or police argued that pregnant people's failure to obtain prenatal care was evidence of a crime. This was the case in 29 of 412 cases."
When the publication was released last year, Pregnancy Justice president Lourdes A. Rivera said in a statement that "the Dobbs decision emboldened prosecutors to develop ever more aggressive strategies to prosecute pregnancy, leading to the most pregnancy-related criminal cases on record."
"This is directly tied to the radical legal doctrine of 'fetal personhood,' which grants full legal rights to an embryo or fetus, turning them into victims of crimes perpetrated by pregnant women," Rivera argued. "To turn the tide on criminalization, we need to separate healthcare from the criminal legal system and to change policy and practices to ensure that pregnant people can safely access the healthcare they need, without fear of criminalization. This report demonstrates that, in post-Dobbs America, being pregnant places people at increased risk, not only of dire health outcomes, but of arrest."
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Illinois Proved Bail Reform Works; Washington Wants to Undermine It
Illinois did not just pass bail reform with the Pretrial Fairness Act—it built a safer, fairer, and more lasting pretrial system. Other states should take note.
Oct 13, 2025
Two years ago last month, Illinois became the first state to end cash bail. Critics warned the change would unleash chaos. It didn’t. Instead, Illinois proved that bail reform works—and endures.
Now, Congress and the White House are ignoring those facts, weaponizing fear and misinformation to attack the law and push for rollbacks nationwide. We can’t let them rewrite the story.
All my life, I’ve watched courts measure humanity against a dollar figure, jailing people—including members of my own family—not because they may be dangerous but because they’re poor. Cash bail doesn’t make us safer; it turns freedom into a commodity. That’s why I’ve spent more than a decade working in states across the country to build a pretrial system where safety, not wealth, determines who goes free before trial.
Cash bail doesn’t just punish poverty—it undermines the fundamental purpose of our pretrial system. It jails thousands of legally innocent people simply because they can’t pay, costing taxpayers billions and destabilizing lives. Even a few days behind bars can mean the loss of someone’s job, housing, or custody of their children, pushing them deeper into crisis and increasing the likelihood of future justice system involvement. Meanwhile, those with money—including people who may pose serious risks—can buy their freedom.
The lesson from Illinois is clear: Reform is not easy, but it is achievable and worth the fight.
Bail reform flips that logic. Under Illinois’ Pretrial Fairness Act, judges still decide when someone must be detained, but those decisions follow real hearings where evidence is presented—not the size of someone’s bank account. People can still be held if they pose a risk, but no one is jailed simply for being poor, and no one can buy their way out.
Despite the facts, public fear about crime is often driven not by bail reform but by visible crises like homelessness, untreated mental illness, and addiction—problems our legal system was never designed to solve. Too often, these conditions are criminalized through low-level charges instead of addressed with care. Cash bail can’t fix them—but investments in housing, treatment, and community services can. Yet just as those solutions are most needed, President Donald Trump and Congress slashed their funding. That failure, not bail reform, is the real threat to public safety.
Illinois recognized cash bail’s harm and built a different path. Its Pretrial Fairness Act is a national model, proving that reform is possible, sustainable, and broadly supported when built with care. The act was drafted with input from legal experts, lawmakers, impacted leaders, victims’ rights advocates, and grassroots organizers, balancing ideals and practical realities. Negotiations required compromise, but the core principle held: No one would be jailed simply for being poor.
Courts and communities had two years to prepare before the law took effect, and the coalition that championed it didn’t scatter—it trained judges, secured funding, and defended the law. The Bail Project, where I work, was one of many partners demonstrating the law’s potential. From 2019 to 2022, we provided free bail assistance and pretrial support to nearly 1,500 low-income Illinoisans—95% of whom returned to court without having money on the line. Building on that work, we invested $2.9 million in Chicago to pilot a supportive pretrial release model linking people to housing, jobs, healthcare, transportation, and court reminders. We also connected people released on recognizance bonds with affordable apartments—showing how stability keeps people from cycling back into jail.
Since implementation, crime did not surge—in fact, Chicago had its lowest summer murder rate since the 1960s—and court appearance rates held steady. The evidence is clear: Communities are not less safe because people are no longer detained for being poor. Illinois shows that when freedom is determined by risk and evidence rather than wealth, safety and fairness go hand in hand.
Yet even in the face of evidence, critics continue to exploit public anxieties about crime. In several states, misinformation has derailed reform—from outright repeal in Alaska to rapid rollbacks in New York and California. Illinois broke that pattern. Lawmakers held firm, recognizing that retreat would betray the communities most harmed by cash bail. That resolve is what separates reforms that endure from those that collapse.
Illinois did not just pass bail reform with the Pretrial Fairness Act—it built a safer, fairer, and more lasting pretrial system. Other states should take note. The lesson from Illinois is clear: Reform is not easy, but it is achievable and worth the fight.
History shows this pattern again and again: Every generation confronts reforms once branded as dangerous. Seat belt laws. Social Security. Medicaid. Each was dismissed as risky. Each is now recognized as essential. Illinois’ Pretrial Fairness Act belongs in that lineage.
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