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"A case like this helps the government kind of see how far they can go in criminalizing constitutionally protected protest," one legal advocate said.
The government has largely won its first case bringing material-support-for-terrorism charges against protesters alleged to belong to "antifa," which President Donald Trump designated as a domestic terror group in 2025 despite the fact that no such organized group exists and the president has no legal authority to designate organizations as domestic terror groups.
A federal jury in Fort Worth, Texas agreed on Friday to convict eight people of domestic terrorism because they wore all black to a protest outside Immigration and Customs Enforcement's (ICE) Prairieland Detention Facility in Alvarado, Texas on July 4, 2025, at which one of the protesters shot and wounded a police officer. Legal experts say the verdict could bolster attempts by the administration to stifle dissent.
"A case like this helps the government kind of see how far they can go in criminalizing constitutionally protected protests and also helps them kind of intimidate, increase the fear, hoping that folks in other cities then will think twice over protesting,” Suzanne Adely, interim president of the National Lawyers Guild, told The Associated Press.
The administration promised it would be the first such case of many.
"The US lost today with this verdict."
“Antifa is a domestic terrorist organization that has been allowed to flourish in Democrat-led cities—not under President Trump,” Attorney General Pam Bondi said in a statement Friday. “Today’s verdict on terrorism charges will not be the last as the Trump administration systematically dismantles Antifa and finally halts their violence on America’s streets.”
The trial revolved around a nighttime protest at which participants planned to set off fireworks in solidarity with the around 1,000 migrants detained inside the Prarieland ICE facility. Some participants brought guns, which is legal in Texas, as The Intercept reported.
Sam Levine explained in The Guardian what happened next:
Shortly after arriving at the facility, two or three of the protesters broke away from the larger group and began spray painting cars in the parking lot, a guard shack, slashed the tires on a government van, and broke a security camera. Two ICE detention guards came out and told the protesters to stop. A police officer arrived on the scene shortly after and drew his weapon at one of the people allegedly doing vandalism. One of the protesters was standing in the woods with an AR-15 and hit him in the shoulder. The officer would survive.
At first, the federal government charged those arrested after the event with "attempted murder of a police officer," according to NOTUS.
However, that changed after Trump's designation of antifa as a terror group in September and the release of National Security Presidential Memorandum 7 (NSPM-7), which directs federal law enforcement to target left-leaning groups and activities. The next month, the government's case expanded to include terrorism charges.
“This wouldn’t be a terrorism case if it weren’t for that memo,” one defense lawyer told NOTUS on background.
The prosecution argued that the fact that the protesters wore black clothes to the protest was enough to convict them of material support for terrorism.
“Providing your body as camouflage for others to do the enumerated acts is providing support,” Assistant US Attorney Shawn Smith said during closing arguments, as The Intercept reported on Thursday. “It’s impossible to tell who is doing what. That’s the point.”
The defense, meanwhile, warned the jury about the free speech implications of the charge.
“The government is asking you to put protesters in prison as terrorists. You are the only people who can stop that,” Blake Burns, an attorney for defendant Elizabeth Soto, said, according to The Guardian.
"When the villain is a made-up boogeyman then the target becomes 'anyone who disagrees with Trump'—and this is the result."
Ultimately, the jury decided to convict eight defendants of material support for terrorism as well as riot, conspiracy to use and carry an explosive, and use and carry of an explosive. However, they dismissed attempts by the state to argue that the protest constituted a pre-planned ambush and charge four people who had not shot at the police officer with attempted murder and discharging a firearm during a crime. Only Benjamin Song, the alleged shooter, was charged with one count of attempted murder and three counts of discharging a firearm.
The jury also convicted a ninth defendant, Daniel Rolando Sanchez Estrada, of conspiracy to conceal documents. Sanchez Estrada, who was not at the protest, had simply moved a box of zines out of his wife's home after she was arrested for the protest, according to The Intercept.
"The US lost today with this verdict,” Sanchez Estrada’s attorney, Christopher Weinbel, said, as AP reported.
Support the Prarieland Defendants said in a statement, "Everything about this trial from beginning to end has proven what we have said all along: This is a sham trial, built on political persecution and ideological attacks coming from the top."
However, the group commended the solidarity that had sprung up among the defendants and their allies and vowed to continue to support them.
"We have a long journey ahead of us to continue fighting these charges along with the state level charges," they said. "What happens here sets the tone for what’s to come. We are here and we won’t give up."
Outside observers warned about the implication for the right to protest under Trump.
"Remember all the people who dismissed the alarm over NSPM-7 because 'ANTIFA isn't even a real organization'? We told you that didn't matter. When the villain is a made-up boogeyman then the target becomes 'anyone who disagrees with Trump'—and this is the result," said Cory Archibald, the co-founder of Track AIPAC [American Israel Public Affairs Committee].
Content creator Austin MacNamara said: "The Prairieland trial was given almost zero media coverage because of the blatant lies by DHS [Department of Homeland Security] and Police. This verdict now sets a precedent for criminalization of dissent across the board. Noise demos, Black-Bloc, pamphlets/zines/red cards, all of this can be used to imprison you."
Academic Nathan Goodman wrote that convicting people of terrorism based on clothing was a "serious threat to the First Amendment."
The verdict gives new poignancy to what defendant Meagan Morris told NOTUS ahead of the jury's decision: “If we win, I think it shows that Trump’s mandate is not working, that the people understand that you can’t criminalize, you know, First and Second Amendment-protected activities. And I think if we lose, then… a lot of the country is OK with what’s going on. And it will be a much darker time, it’ll just signify a much increased crackdown on political opposition and free speech."
Being a good Cuban American means to support the people, and to fight for what's right and just for them, not for the government; American or Cuban.
What does it mean to be a good Cuban American? If you'd have asked me that question six years ago my answer would have been the standardized one, because it was an answer that had been etched into my mind since I was young.
To be a good Cuban-American I had to:
Those were the three basic pillars for being a good Cuban-American, and they were not optional. They still aren't. At least, that's what the loud Cuban-American voices in Miami and South Florida want you and me to believe.
For me, being a good Cuban American means stopping the embargo. Stop suffocating my people.
I was born in Cuba a few years before their “periodo especial,” which lasted from about 1991 to 2000. Essentially, it was an economic crisis that was highlighted by extreme reductions of already rationed foods and severe energy shortages (apagones). For the duration of my childhood and young adult life, I was taught that these burdens that Cuba felt were the sole fault of Fidel Castro and his government. That it was communism's fault, and that Che Guevara was the main architect of Cuba's torture. As a result, I grew up the way most Cubans who live in the USA do, with a severe mistrust of anything socialist or communist, fully believing that the embargo was choking the Cuban government, and having the lowest possible opinion of Castro and Che.
When I started college, I got involved in activism, and worked very closely with right-wing ideological organizations. Although at the time, I didn’t realize their beliefs were right-wing, I just felt that it was the only way to think and act as a Cuban. I was taught a lot by them, and of course, deep within all of those lessons were the continued lessons on hatred of communism and socialism, Castro and co., and supporting the embargo. This went on for many years, and I eventually became president of a local university-aligned organization. One day, I had a conversation with someone who had also been heavily involved with dissident work. We began discussing trips to Cuba; he'd said it would be his fifth trip over to the island, and I mentioned I hadn't been back since I left back in 1994. He questioned why.
I began listing all of the reasons that had been so eloquently placed into my psyche for the past 20 years: traveling to Cuba was dangerous, it only benefited the Cuban government, my money would never reach the people of Cuba, I would be blacklisted here in the USA because I would be seen as a communist sympathizer, and so forth.
He looked me right in the eyes and said all of the reasons I'd mentioned were American propaganda, and served no other purpose than to instill fear into people who would otherwise see a situation for what it truly was—cruel and unusual. A situation that only hurt the people of Cuba. A situation that was orchestrated by the American government under the guise of hurting the Cuban government, but the real objective was to obtain control of the small sovereign nation.
Over the last five years or so, I have done a lot of unlearning, and while I still feel very strongly about the Cuban government and their crimes toward the Cuban people who oppose them, I do not believe the issue of Cuba is as black and white as the loud voices in South Florida want you and me to believe. The one thing, however, that is very black and white is that the embargo does nothing but hurt the people of Cuba. The embargo does nothing else but cut off an already limited supply of items, medicines, and tools that the Cuban people need to survive.
If you ask me now what it means to be a good Cuban American, my answer is simple, yet in true Cuban fashion also very complex. Being a good Cuban American means to support the people, and to fight for what's right and just for them, not for the government; American or Cuban. Being a good Cuban American means to call for an end to the decades-long embargo that has done nothing but strangle an already struggling country. Being a good Cuban American means recognizing that NO government is without flaw, but understanding that at times when you are pushed into a corner, there are only a handful of ways to stay alive.
For me, being a good Cuban American means stopping the embargo. Stop suffocating my people. Stop oppressing my people, and stop using their suffering as the excuse to blame another government. Not in my name.
End the embargo. Help the Cuban people. If this calls to you, please join Cuban Americans for Cuba. We have poured our hearts into an open letter against the current US policies toward Cuba (CubanAmericansForCuba.Org/Letter), which is a call to our fellow Cubans to stand with us and show the world who we truly are and what we truly stand for.
Our movement is a blend of members across the United States who don't all think alike, but who share one unshakable conviction: that the future of Cuba belongs to the Cuban people, and to them alone, free from American interference and manipulation.
If true justice prevails in Palestine, it will inevitably prevail in Lebanon, in Syria, and beyond. The exhausted branding of the Middle East as a "war-torn region" will finally vanish.
Let us imagine a liberated Palestine. Let us consider how justice for the Palestinian people would reshape not only the region but, indeed, the entire globe.
This is not a conversation about a "political solution" in the narrow, bureaucratic sense. Such solutions require no particular genius: True justice can only occur when the Palestinian people are granted the totality of their rights and the fulfillment of their political aspirations.
Equally true is the reality that no such justice can manifest so long as Israel remains committed to its current Zionist ideology—a framework predicated on racial supremacy and the systematic eradication of the Indigenous Palestinian Arab population. Once the shackles of this ideology are broken, the exact political mechanics become secondary; history suggests that the future would lean toward a shared coexistence rather than a continuation of the current segregation along ethnic lines.
To some, discussing a liberated Palestine now may appear slightly—though not entirely—removed from the current war ravaging the region. It is a war that, if not permanently halted, will continue to devastate the peoples of the Middle East, inviting further militarization, runaway defense spending, and cycles of violence. On the contrary, this is the most critical discussion we can have today.
A just peace will invite more than just the absence of war; it will invite opportunity, reconstruction, a collective regional rise, and—most importantly—the restoration of hope.
In his seminal documentary, the late Australian journalist and filmmaker John Pilger summed up the centrality of Palestine to the Middle East in these prescient words:
A historic injustice has been done to the Palestinian people, and until Israel’s illegal and brutal occupation ends, there will be no peace for anyone—Israelis included.
These are not mere words of posturing; they are an undeniable historical truth. Palestine has remained the beating heart of every Middle Eastern war and every persisting conflict. For Israel, the occupation has served as the linchpin for its military incursions across borders. For Palestine’s neighbors and allies, it remains the unhealed wound of a region historically unified by political, cultural, linguistic, and religious continuity.
Even during periods when Palestine was seemingly relegated to the periphery of regional diplomacy, Israel was keen to remind its neighbors that its designs were never limited to the Palestinians alone. Whether in historic Palestine or the Shatat (Diaspora), the Zionist project has always signaled broader ambitions.
Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu has explicitly confirmed this expansionist intent, recently declaring that he is on a “historic and spiritual mission” to realize the vision of a “Greater Israel.” By openly connecting with a map that swallows Palestinian land and threatens the sovereignty of neighboring Arab states, he has made it clear that the erasure of Palestine is merely the first step in a much larger colonial design.
The current war confirms this centrality. Its origins, the ensuing political discourse, and the clashing visions of a "post-war" reality all pull Palestine back to the center of the global stage. To discuss Palestine as if it were an isolated issue—as some unfortunately do—is a profound historical mistake. Conversely, to discuss the future of the Middle East without centering Palestine is equally delusional.
Therefore, we must insist on the Palestinian discussion now more than ever. Once a just outcome to the Palestinian struggle is achieved, the positive shock waves will transform the region. Only then can we move from a state of perpetual warfare to a future rooted in genuine, collective liberation.
That said, do not expect a list of dry political recipes to follow. We already know, instinctively, what justice for Palestinians looks like. The freedom to live, to be treated with equality, to enjoy sovereignty, and to demand accountability and respect—these do not require exhaustive citations of international legal or humanitarian law. These are natural rights; they flow through us, individually and collectively, as surely as the blood in our veins.
The fact that Israel and its enablers refuse to respect international law, or to adhere to any common humanitarian principle, is no fault of the Palestinians or the other victims of Israeli aggression. The moral and legal burden must be shouldered entirely by those who have abused, disregarded, and dismantled the international legal order for far too long.
Today, the Palestinians—much like the people of Lebanon, Syria, and other nations across the region—are doing exactly what every oppressed nation must do: They are remaining steadfast. This Sumud is the key, now more than ever before. The ultimate outcome of this conflict will not be determined by lopsided death tolls or the sheer scale of structural destruction, but by the unyielding resilience of the people. History is a patient teacher; it tells us that if the rightful owners of the land hold their ground, they will eventually win.
Richard Falk, the former United Nations Special Rapporteur on Palestinian Human Rights and a prominent legal scholar, refers to this phenomenon as winning the "War of Legitimacy." It is a war fought not with fighter jets, but with the moral clarity of those who refuse to disappear.
If true justice prevails in Palestine, it will inevitably prevail in Lebanon, in Syria, and beyond. The exhausted branding of the Middle East as a "war-torn region" will finally vanish. A just peace will invite more than just the absence of war; it will invite opportunity, reconstruction, a collective regional rise, and—most importantly—the restoration of hope.
This is not a desperate wish whispered in a time of darkness. It is the only way out.
It’s been coming for months: the first big Vermont confrontation among ICE, the local police, and the community in a state that prides itself on caring for neighbors and individual liberty as well as collective responsibility.
The little boy with curly red hair clutched his huge stuffed bunny and stayed close to his mother, whose face was tight with anxiety. No wonder. Close by was a crowd of more than 100 protesters, clustered around a small white house with Immigration and Customs Enforcement agents in the back and local police in the front. A line of Vermont state troopers in their green uniforms was across the street on the median. There was a lot of yelling.
I took off my mask and asked the boy if he understood what was going on. He shook his head and put his thumb in his mouth. “The police want to get into the house to take someone away, and the rest of us don’t want them to because it’s not fair,” I said.
“Is he a bad guy?”
“We don’t think so.” The boy was about 3, the same age as the child who was trapped inside the house until his family decided whether it was safer to let him go to friends.
I keep thinking about the little boy frightened of the crowd and the noise. About those three people in the house from 8:30 am until 5:30 pm, then in a vehicle, now in detention. About their farewell to a 3-year-old child.
The red-haired boy’s mother said they couldn’t get through the protest, so I walked them around it, in the blocked-off street.
It’s been coming for months: the first big Vermont confrontation among ICE, the local police, and the community in a state that prides itself on caring for neighbors and individual liberty as well as collective responsibility. By the time the day was done, ICE broke into the house with the help of Vermont State Police, then arrested and removed three people, including two asylum-seeking sisters (ages 20 and 31) from Ecuador, according to Migrant Justice.
Thursday morning, the US attorney admitted that none of them was the person named in the warrant which ICE finally obtained after showing up without one. No mention was made of any criminal charges against the people who were removed from their home. Less than a dozen protesters were also detained, some violently: those who attempted to prevent ICE from entering the home or keep official vehicles from leaving. At the end of the evening, tear gas dispersed the remaining protesters and the final vehicle sped away.
The day began when ICE tried to trap a vehicle in which the driver attempted to escape, damaging several other cars in the process. Eventually the driver fled on foot, leaving the car behind. Only then were local police notified that ICE would attempt an arrest at a nearby address associated with the car. Police and protesters were both on the scene early. ICE officers said they had a warrant but were unable to produce one. Police first said that people had a right to protest but couldn’t on private property—but then the property manager arrived, asked to be shown a warrant, and said he was not asking the police to remove people.
Song broke out, led by Rabbi Grace Oedel. Someone brought a guitar. Soon hands linked around the house. A nearby business put up a tent, and snacks and supplies poured in. A local store sent pizza. Half a dozen ICE agents (some masked, mostly not) were hanging out in the backyard, waiting for the warrant. Most protesters were peaceful, but a few were angry and confrontational, taunting and insulting officers. Several people tried to cool the loud voices out to no avail, until a soft-spoken woman talked directly to an officer, and two angry young men backed off. The local police were in a very difficult position and overall showed restraint in the early part of the day. But after they called in the Vermont State Police, the tone of the situation changed. The warrant was on its way, and the die was cast.
The parking lot of a nearby mall suddenly swarmed with State Police vehicles, not only to transport them, but also what used to be called paddy wagons. Reporters later said that about 60 law enforcement personnel were involved at the height of the situation, including some in “tactical gear.” Soon, local and state police cars filled the street in front of the house, as well as unmarked ICE vehicles.
About 5:30 pm local time, after state troopers cleared a path from the ICE vehicle to the front door of the house, I watched what I’ve seen so many times on the news. An implacable man with a stony face stood in the doorway, after it was broken down. A line of helmets led up to that door. Lots of screaming, including my own, lots of whistles. Then a brown face in the doorway, a short man’s, full of fear. I was so upset that I didn’t even see the two women who were taken afterward. The crowd surged in front of the vehicles to keep them from leaving, shouting, “No están solos” (They are not alone). When the cars tried to back out, people blocked them again. Only the use of force cleared the path, and in the process a number of people were roughed up, sprayed with pepper spray, or pushed to the ground or against the cars. Some were arrested.
Thursday morning, in Vermont fashion, our Republican Gov. Phil Scott has attempted to issue a balanced statement and primarily blames the feds: “The actions of federal law enforcement, from outside the state yesterday, further demonstrates a lack of training, coordination, leadership, and outdated tactics which put both peaceful protesters and Vermont law enforcement in a difficult situation.”
The local South Burlington Police Chief William Breault also criticized the ICE approach, saying, “To attempt an arrest of a subject in a moving vehicle on Dorset Street in the area of a high school and middle school at 7:45 in the morning when the school is getting in was not probably the most appropriate.” In fact, MSN’s report of a press conference by the three local police departments says, “Police say they tried to convince federal agents to avoid the high-tension arrest.”
I keep thinking about the little boy frightened of the crowd and the noise. About those three people in the house from 8:30 am until 5:30 pm, then in a vehicle, now in detention. About their farewell to a 3-year-old child. About what the two asylum-seekers may have suffered before they came here looking for safety. For what we used to call the American Dream.