Why Candace Owens claims Brigette Macron was born a man, her 'war against perverts who run the world'... and why that's not even the most controversial part
Followers of the firebrand Right-wing commentator Candace Owens have become accustomed to endlessly outlandish opinions.
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The Independent
27 minutes ago
- The Independent
A Tunisian musician was detained in LA after living in US for a decade. His doctor wife speaks out
Dr. Wafaa Alrashid noticed fewer of her patients were showing up for their appointments at the Los Angeles area hospital where she works as immigration raids spread fear among the Latino population she serves. The Utah-born chief medical officer at Huntington Hospital understood their fear on a personal level. Her husband Rami Othmane, a Tunisian singer and classical musician, began carrying a receipt of his pending green card application around with him. Over the past few months, immigration agents have arrested hundreds of people in Southern California, prompting protests against the federal raids and the subsequent deployment of the National Guard and Marines. Despite living in the U.S. for a decade as one of thousands of residents married to U.S. citizens, he was swept up in the crackdown. On July 13, Othmane was stopped while driving to a grocery store in Pasadena. He quickly pulled out his paperwork to show federal immigration agents. 'They didn't care, they said, 'Please step out of the car,'' Alrashid recalled hearing the officers say as she watched her husband's arrest in horror over FaceTime. Alrashid immediately jumped in her car and followed her phone to his location. She arrived just in time to see the outline of his head in the back of a vehicle driving away. 'That was probably the worst day of my life," she said. The Trump administration's crackdown on illegal immigration has ensnared not only immigrants without legal status but legal permanent residents like Othmane who has green cards. Some U.S. citizens have even been arrested. Meanwhile, many asylum-seekers who have regular check-in appointments are being arrested in the hallways outside courtrooms as the White House works toward its promise of mass deportations. Alrashid said her husband has been in the U.S. since 2015 and overstayed his visa, but his deportation order was dismissed in 2020. They wed in March 2025 and immediately filed for a green card. After his arrest, he was taken to the U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement facility in downtown Los Angeles where he was held in a freezing cold room with 'no beds, no pillows, no blankets, no soap, no toothbrushes and toothpaste, and when you're in a room with people, the bathroom's open,' she said. The Department of Homeland Security in an emailed statement noted the expiration of his tourist visa but did not address the dismissal of the deportation order in 2020 nor his pending green card application. The agency denied any allegations of mistreatment, and said "ensuring the safety, security, and well-being of individuals in our custody is a top priority at ICE.' Alrashid said for years her husband has performed classical Arabic music across Southern California. They first met when he was singing at a restaurant. 'He's the kindest person,' Alrashid said, adding that he gave a sweater she brought him to a fellow detainee and to give others privacy, he built a makeshift barrier around the open toilet using trash bags. 'He's brought a lot to the community, a lot of people love his music," she said. More than a week after his arrest, fellow musicians, immigration advocates and activists joined Alrashid in a rally outside the facility. A few of his colleagues performed classical Arabic music, drumming loud enough that they hoped the detainees inside could hear them. Los Jornaleros del Norte musicians, who often play Spanish-language music at rallies, also were there. 'In Latin American culture, the serenade — to bring music to people — is an act of love and kindness. But in this moment, bringing music to people who are in captivity is also an act of resistance," said Pablo Alvarado, co-executive director of the National Day Laborer Organizing Network. Leading up to the rally, Alrashid was worried because she hadn't received her daily call from her husband and was told she couldn't visit him that day at the detention facility. She finally heard from him that evening. Othmane told her over the phone he was now at an immigration detention facility in Arizona, and that his left leg was swollen. 'They should ultrasound your leg, don't take a risk,' she said. Alrashid hopes to get her husband out on bail while his case is being processed. They had a procedural hearing on Thursday where the judge verified his immigration status, and have a bail bond hearing scheduled for Tuesday. Until then, she'll continue waiting for his next phone call.
The Independent
27 minutes ago
- The Independent
DeSantis set a Florida record for executions. It's driving a national increase
In the final moments of a life defined by violence, 60-year-old Edward Zakrzewski thanked the people of Florida for killing him "in the most cold, calculated, clean, humane, efficient way possible," breathing deeply as a lethal drug cocktail coursed through his veins. With his last breath, strapped to a gurney inside a state prison's death chamber, Zakrzewski paid what Florida had deemed was his debt to society and became the 27th person put to death in the U.S. so far this year, the highest number in a decade. Under Republican Gov. Ron DeSantis, Florida has executed nine people in 2025, more than than any other state, and set a new state record, with DeSantis overseeing more executions in a single year than any other Florida governor since the death penalty was reinstated in 1976. Across the country, more people have been put to death in the first seven months of this year than in all of 2024. Florida's increase is helping put the U.S. on track to surpass 2015's total of 28 executions. And the number of executions is expected to keep climbing. Nine more people are scheduled to be put to death in seven states during the remainder of 2025. Florida drives a national increase in executions After the Supreme Court lifted its ban on capital punishment in the '70s, executions steadily increased, peaking in 1999 at 98 deaths. Since then, they had been dropping — in part due to legal battles, a shortage of lethal injection drugs, and declining public support for capital punishment, which has prompted a majority of states to either pause or abolish it altogether. The ratcheting up after this yearslong decline comes as Republican President Donald Trump has urged prosecutors to aggressively seek the death penalty and as some GOP-controlled state legislatures have pushed to expand the category of crimes punishable by death and the methods used to carry out executions. John Blume, director of the Cornell Death Penalty Project, says the uptick in executions doesn't appear to be linked to a change in public support for the death penalty or an increase in the rate of death sentences, but is rather a function of the discretion of state governors. 'The most cynical view would be: It seems to matter to the president, so it matters to them,' Blume said of the governors. 'The only appropriate punishment' In response to questions from The Associated Press, a spokesperson for DeSantis pointed to statements the governor made at a press conference in May, saying he takes capital cases 'very seriously.' 'There are some crimes that are just so horrific, the only appropriate punishment is the death penalty,' DeSantis said, adding: 'these are the worst of the worst.' Julie Andrew expressed relief after witnessing the April execution of the man who killed her sister in the Florida Keys in 2000. 'It's done,' she said. 'My heart felt lighter and I can breathe again.' The governor's office did not respond to questions about why the governor is increasing the pace of executions now and whether Trump's policies are playing a role. Deciding who lives and who dies Little is publicly known about how the governor decides whose death warrant to sign and when, a process critics have called 'secretive' and 'arbitrary.' According to the Florida Department of Corrections, there are 266 people currently on death row, including two men in their 80s, both of whom have been awaiting their court-ordered fate for more than 40 years. Speaking at the press conference in May, DeSantis said it's his 'obligation' to oversee executions, which he hopes provide 'some closure' to victims' families. 'Any time we go forward, I'm convinced that not only was the verdict correct, but that this punishment is absolutely appropriate under the circumstances,' DeSantis said. US ranks alongside Iran and Saudi Arabia for executions For years, the U.S. has ranked alongside Iran, Saudi Arabia, Iraq and Egypt as among the countries carrying out the highest number of confirmed executions. China is thought to execute more of its citizens than any other nation, although the exact totals are considered a state secret, according to the non-profit Death Penalty Information Center. Robin Maher, the center's executive director, says elected officials in the U.S. have long used the death penalty as a 'political tool,' adding it's 'a way of embellishing their own tough-on-crime credentials.' Florida executions vary year to year In 2024, DeSantis signed one death warrant. From 2020-2022, Florida didn't carry out a single execution. In 2023, DeSantis oversaw six — the highest number during his time in office until this year. 2023 was also the year the governor challenged Trump for the Republican presidential nomination. There are a number of reasons why the rate of executions may vary from one administration to the next, said Mark Schlakman, an attorney and Florida State University professor who advised then-governor Lawton Chiles on the death penalty. The availability of staff resources, the tempo of lengthy legal appeals, and court challenges against the death penalty itself can all play a role, Schlakman said, as well as a governor's 'sensibilities.' 'The one person who can stop this' One execution after another, opponents of the death penalty hold vigils in the Florida capitol, outside the governor's mansion, and near the state prison that houses the death chamber, as people of faith across the state pray for mercy, healing and justice. Suzanne Printy, a volunteer with the group Floridians for Alternatives to the Death Penalty, has hand-delivered thousands of petitions to DeSantis' office, but says they seem to have no effect. Recently, DeSantis signed death warrants for two more men scheduled to die later this month. Still, Printy keeps praying. 'He's the one person who can stop this,' she said. ___
The Independent
27 minutes ago
- The Independent
Generations come together at a county fair dubbed Mississippi's 'giant house party'
Each summer, hundreds of brightly colored cabins come to life with the sound of children playing and smells of Southern comfort food in what's known as Mississippi 's 'giant house party,' the Neshoba County Fair. The fair touts itself as the largest campground fair in the country, where attendees cram into more than 500 two-and-three story wood cabins for eight days every year. The larger cabins can sleep upwards of 30 people, sometimes in the same room. 'It's like having two Christmases a year,' said Mike Hardy, who attends the fair just about every year and shared a cabin this year with 20 members of his family, from infants to grandparents. For Hardy, who lives more than 300 miles (500 kilometers) away in Nashville, Tennessee, the fair is one of the only times he visits his hometown. He calls it a high school, college and family reunion all wrapped into one. 'I wouldn't miss it for anything,' he said. 'It's just always been a big part of our lives.' Hardy inherited the cabin from his father, who bought it in the late 1960s. It's located in what's known as 'watermelon alley,' one of several neighborhoods that divide up the community, which feels like a mix between a candy-colored frontier town and an amusement park. His children grew up going there. The pictures they drew on hot summer days still hang on the walls, joined now by their own children's artwork. His daughter, Madison Hardy-Dennis, attended her first fair when she was less than a year old. Now, her 6-year-old twins run barefoot in the red Mississippi mud, play pranks and get into water balloon fights — just like she did. 'I hope that they understand how special this week is, and that this place is,' Hardy-Dennis said. Horse-race watching at the nearby race track and card playing are among Hardy family's favorite activities during the fair. They take their kids to the carnival rides and cook large family meals. On their way to the track, they walk through Founders Square, the oldest section of cabins with a pavilion used for dances and political speeches. It's where Ronald Reagan gave his famous states' rights speech in 1980 while running for president. Sid Salter, whose family has been going to the fair since it first opened in 1889, said it's a place where children are safe to roam freely. Often, parents write their kid's name and cabin number on their arms. If they get lost, a friendly fair-goer will help them find their way back. The communal atmosphere extends to mealtime. Although only about 20 people stay in their cabin, Salter's family often feeds 50 or 60 people a day. 'It's not an inexpensive hobby,' he joked, 'but it's a great time with people you only see, you know, during the fair." The fair, Salter said, also feels like a reunion with loved ones who are no longer living. He imagines that the spirits of his twin sister, first wife and parents like to 'knock around' the campground where they made so many memories. 'It may be a figment of a fertile imagination — I'm sure it is — but I feel it,' he said. At 66 years old, Salter has only missed three Neshoba County Fairs, once for an adventure camp when he was 13, again to cover the 2000 Republican National Convention as a reporter and in 2017 when he was battling cancer. He said he often eats the same meals, does the same activities and sees the same people year after year. 'In a sea of change in every facet of our lives, the fair is constant," he said.
