Gary was a member of the class action lawsuit that the Ohio Justice & Policy Center (OJPC) filed against the Ohio Department of Rehabilitation and Correction (ODRC) in 2003. The lawsuit, Fussel v. Wilkinson, addressed the prison’s denial of adequate medical care for serious medical needs.
We’re a group of people from diverse occupations: furniture makers, small business owners, lawyers, builders, designers, event planners. We’re also human beings, which means we’ll each be impacted in some way by this administration’s plans. In discussing our reaction to the election results, we realized two things...
As a lawyer defending the human rights of LGBTQI people in Jamaica, I am accustomed to receiving death threats. But when I received a particularly vulgar and graphic email threatening to immediately end my life, I was so shaken that I finally went to the police. What happened next shocked me...
Anderson Cooper would be the first to call out Donald Trump’s ridicule of a reporter with a disability with righteous indignation. Yet, on December 4, 2016 Cooper used the 60 Minutes broadcast to throw people with disabilities under the bus in the name of journalism. He used his power and prestige to denigrate the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) and the honorable lawyers that enforce it. Cooper could not have been more successful, if his intent was to lead the parade of horribles against the ADA. I suggest that presenting a skewed piece of journalism which serves only to undermine the first national law providing civil rights protections for people with disabilities is at least as harmful as mocking a reporter with a disability.
Brad Seligman’s father was a prosecutor at Nuremberg. Selig, as he was known, was a New Deal kid and lawyer-turned-TV/movie-producer who instilled in his son the value of public service and giving back. “Looking back,” says Brad, “it’s pretty obvious that I was destined to be a lawyer and, after a few of the obligatory 60’s detours, I decided to conduct a five-year experiment to see if I might be cut out for the legal profession.” He’s been renewing that experiment ever since.
The final question we had for Ms. Molina was the kicker, as we prepared her to testify in an upcoming summary judgment hearing in federal court. We were asking about the effects of the city of Richmond’s aggressive maintenance code enforcement campaign against the residents of the mobile home park where she lives. City inspectors had threatened her, like most of her neighbors, with imminent displacement and the condemnation of her home (a later review of the inspectors’ notes showed that there was nothing to justify condemning the home, despite the city’s threats). “How often do you think about it,” we asked the retiree from El Salvador. Ms. Molina’s eyes welled up with tears and, after a pause, her voice cracked, “All the time.” She paused as she wept. “All the time.”
Under Texas law, individuals can be required to pay for their court-appointed defense attorney. While the Court of Criminal Appeals has clarified that a court must determine that a defendant actually has the ability to pay attorney fees before ordering them to do so, not all courts follow the law. In Lamar County, a local defense attorney, relatively new to Texas, was shocked when he saw defendants ordered to pay money they didn’t have for a court-appointed attorney, and then threatened with jail if they missed payments.
The people of Grassy Narrows have sustained themselves for thousands of years on their traditional territory – 2,500 square miles of forest, lakes and rivers. These indigenous people are no strangers to environmental injustice. Between 1962 and 1970 the rivers and lakes they depend on for their sustenance and livelihood were poisoned by the Reed International Paper Mill. In spite of assurances that the logging and associated activities were safe, twenty tons of mercury was dumped into the river. So, when the people of Grassy Narrows learned that the Ontario government was planning to give the go ahead to resume clear cut logging, there was astonishment...
No doubt that Trump’s mocking arm movements and disgusted facial expression is a prime example of bullying. And no doubt that bullying is a major problem for people with disabilities. But I feel like everyone has jumped on this incident as a breach of decorum (don't stare, don't make fun), but no one is talking about it from a policy perspective. This type of mocking is not just a matter of manners, decorum and crossing lines, but has real and terrible policy implications.
Not only was a de facto death sentence a realistic possibility for many of the prisoners being denied treatment, it was a death sentence of liver failure. I myself have witnessed people die this way. It is a slow and horrifying process, far worse than any sentence, any punishment, or any manner of death penalty, imposed by any state, for any crime. In light of that knowledge, “sentenced to die” is actually putting the matter quite lightly.
In May of 2016, Quinton Thomas, a native St Louisan was pulled over in Beverly Hills, a Missouri town of 574 people that is 93% black and receives 26% of its general revenue from court fines and fees. Mr. Thomas was driving his friend to a barber shop to get his haircut when he was stopped by police for having a “busted front bumper.” In the past three years, Mr. Thomas has been pulled over, arrested and jailed for unpaid traffic tickets, and as a result he has lost two jobs and one vehicle, not to mention days of his life, and a sense of safety when he gets behind the wheel.
There’s a saying in Spanish that goes, caras vemos, sentimientos no sabemos. In English it means, “We see faces, but we don’t know feelings.” I like to make people smile and help them, and I’m told that I seem like a really happy and positive person, but I’ve been through a lot.
When I was little, my mom struggled with drug abuse and often got into relationships with men who were abusive or drug addicts as well. When I was two or three, the man she was dating sexually abused me. This is one of my earliest memories.
Flint, Baltimore, Philadelphia ... Churchrock? The list of communities facing drinking water crises is ever growing, but some communities don’t get mentioned in the media or the halls of power. When the Flint water crisis made national headlines, Americans were shocked that any community's drinking water could be sacrificed just to save a few bucks. But contaminated water is a fact of life for many communities impacted by this nation's fetishistic fascination with atomic power.
The Navajo (or "Diné" in their native language) village of Churchrock straddles a dusty arroyo called the Puerco River in the northwestern corner of New Mexico. This inauspicious village is ground zero in the fight to prevent uranium mining from doing further damage to the land and its people. To fully understand the current fight, one must look to history first.
After a few weeks, all of us working on the night cleaning shift realized there were problems. The man who hired us stopped coming to work and did not pay us on time. When we tried to contact him, he refused to answer our calls. A supervisor from another company came and told us to keep working, promising that we would be paid. We were all eager to keep working and earning money, but the pay checks weren’t coming...
I recall my first contact with police as a middle schooler. Two of my friends and I, all Black youths, were walking in our neighborhood. San Francisco’s Richmond district was diverse but mostly White then. It was a dark early evening. As the three of us were walking, a police car pulled up. The officers ordered us to empty our pockets. They searched us without asking for permission or explaining why they had stopped us. Finding nothing illegal, they departed without explanation or apology. We knew they had stopped us because we were Black. To them Black kids in a “White neighborhood” was synonymous with suspicious. They didn’t beat us or kill us. So the physical toll was light, but the psychological effects were deep. Afterward we had to question if the police would protect and serve us.
When S.H. entered the foster care system at age twelve, she had already suffered years of sexual abuse by her stepfather. She was around seventeen and a young mother, when her county welfare agency placed her in a Promesa Behavioral Health group home. Upon arrival, the group home made S.H. sign a document promising that she wouldn’t engage in sexual activity while she lived there.
Have you been infuriated by your State’s failure to limit toxic pollution from mines and other industries? If so, here’s how you can have your say and stand up for environmental justice.
Current federal regulations have a huge loophole right in the middle of the Clean Water Act permitting program.
Landmark Settlement for Asylum Seeker Detained by Customs and Border Protection paves way for changes to system
“I was forced to leave my home country after receiving threats from a man who had held me hostage and assaulted me. I was sure he would kill me. I had a stable career but knew the only place I could be safe was the US. I walked through the desert for two days. I was desperate to get to a hospital because I am diabetic and have heart problems.
It started as a normal day at work. I was a cashier at Lam’s Supermarket. One minute, I was ringing up someone’s purchases; the next I looked up and there were Sheriff’s deputies everywhere. I didn’t know what was going on but I could tell something was wrong and texted my mom to tell her that the police were there. The deputies came over to handcuff me, take my phone and my purse away. I couldn’t stop crying and no one would explain to me what was happening.
Matheny Tract residents first received notice in 2006 that their drinking water, provided to them by Pratt Mutual Water Company, was contaminated with an excessive amount of arsenic. Pratt Mutual’s distribution system was deteriorating, and residents were clearly paying the price. Matheny Tract is a small, unincorporated community made up of 1,200 residents. The majority of the population is Latino, and almost a third of the residents live below the federal poverty line. Since the community is unincorporated, residents can’t vote in city elections and don’t have access to municipal services.