Palo Alto woman faces hate crime charges after alleged racial attack
PALO ALTO, Calif. - A Palo Alto woman faces hate crime and battery charges after allegedly spitting on a man and yelling racial epithets, police said.
What we know
The incident occurred Saturday around 6 p.m. at Lytton Plaza on University Avenue, where police responded to a report of a fight.
At the scene, officers found a man in his 60s who had been attacked.
Authorities said the victim was sitting in the plaza when he was approached by a woman who, without provocation, spit on him while shouting a racial epithet directed at Black people.
The man left the plaza as the suspect continued yelling.
Officers located the suspect, 50-year-old Lisa Madden, and arrested her on charges of battery and a hate crime.
Authorities said Madden continued to hurl racial epithets at the victim even in the presence of officers.
The Source
The Palo Alto Police Department
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Los Angeles Times
an hour ago
- Los Angeles Times
Political violence is threaded through recent U.S. history. The motives and justifications vary
The assassination of one Democratic Minnesota state lawmaker and her husband and the shooting of another lawmaker and his wife at their homes are just the latest addition to a long and unsettling roll call of political violence in the United States. The list, in the last two months alone: the killing of two Israeli Embassy staffers in Washington, D.C.; the firebombing of a Colorado march calling for the release of Israeli hostages; and the firebombing of the official residence of Pennsylvania's governor — on a Jewish holiday while he and his family were inside. Here is a sampling of other attacks before that — the assassination of a healthcare executive on the streets of New York City late last year; the attempted assassination of Donald Trump at a Pennsylvania rally during his presidential campaign last year; the 2022 attack on the husband of then-House Speaker Nancy Pelosi (D-San Francisco) by a believer in right-wing conspiracy theories; and the 2017 shooting of Rep. Steve Scalise (R-La.) by a gunman at a congressional softball game practice. 'We've entered into this especially scary time in the country where it feels the sort of norms and rhetoric and rules that would tamp down on violence have been lifted,' said Matt Dallek, a political scientist at Georgetown University who studies extremism. 'A lot of people are receiving signals from the culture.' Politics have also driven large-scale massacres. Gunmen who killed 11 worshipers at a synagogue in Pittsburgh in 2018, 23 shoppers at a heavily Latino Walmart in El Paso in 2019 and 10 Black people at a Buffalo, N.Y., grocery store in 2022 each cited the conspiracy theory that a secret cabal of Jews was trying to replace white people with people of color. That has become a staple on parts of the right that support Trump's push to limit immigration. The Anti-Defamation League found that from 2022 through 2024, all of the 61 political killings in the United States were committed by right-wing extremists. That changed on the first day of 2025, when a Texas man flying the flag of the Islamic State group killed 14 people by driving his truck through a crowded New Orleans street before being fatally shot by police. 'You're seeing acts of violence from all different ideologies,' said Jacob Ware, a fellow at the Council on Foreign Relations who researches terrorism. 'It feels more random and chaotic and more frequent.' The United States has a long and grim history of political violence, including presidential assassinations dating to the killing of President Abraham Lincoln, lynchings and other violence aimed at Black people in the South, and the 1954 shooting inside Congress by four Puerto Rican nationalists. Experts say the last few years, however, have reached a level not seen since the tumultuous days of the 1960s and 1970s, when political leaders the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr., President Kennedy, Malcolm X and Robert F. Kennedy were assassinated. Ware noted that the most recent surge comes after the new Trump administration has closed units that focus on investigating white supremacist extremism and pushed federal law enforcement to spend less time on anti-terrorism and more on detaining people who are in the country illegally. 'We're at the point, after these six weeks, where we have to ask about how effectively the Trump administration is combating terrorism,' Ware said. One of Trump's first acts in office was to pardon those involved in the largest act of domestic political violence this century — the Jan. 6, 2021, assault on the U.S. Capitol by a pro-Trump mob intended to prevent Congress from certifying Trump's 2020 election loss. Those pardons broadcast a signal to would-be extremists on either side of the political debate, Dallek said: 'They sent a very strong message that violence, as long as you're a Trump supporter, will be permitted and may be rewarded.' Often, those who engage in political violence don't have clearly defined ideologies that easily map onto the country's partisan divides. A man who died after he detonated a car bomb outside a Palm Springs fertility clinic last month left writings urging people not to procreate and expressed what the FBI called 'nihilistic ideations.' But each political attack seems to inspire partisans to find evidence the attacker is on the other side. Little was known about the man police identified as a suspect in the Minnesota attacks, 57-year-old Vance Boelter. Authorities say they found a list of other apparent targets that included other Democratic officials, abortion clinics and abortion rights advocates, as well as fliers for the day's anti-Trump 'No Kings' parades. Conservatives online seized on the fliers — and the fact that Boelter had apparently once been reappointed to a state workforce development board by Democratic Gov. Tim Walz — to claim the suspect must be a liberal. 'The far left is murderously violent,' billionaire Elon Musk posted on his social media site, X. It was reminiscent of the fallout from the attack on Paul Pelosi, the former House speaker's then-82-year-old husband, who was seriously injured by a man wielding a hammer. Right-wing figures falsely theorized the assailant was a secret lover rather than what authorities said he was: a believer in pro-Trump conspiracy theories who broke into the Pelosi home echoing Jan. 6 rioters who broke into the Capitol by saying: 'Where is Nancy?!' No prominent Republican ever denounced the Pelosi assault, and GOP leaders including Trump joked about the attack at public events in its aftermath. On Saturday, Nancy Pelosi posted a statement on X decrying the Minnesota attack. 'All of us must remember that it's not only the act of violence, but also the reaction to it, that can normalize it,' she wrote. After mocking the Pelosis after the 2022 attack, Trump on Saturday joined in the bipartisan condemnation of the Minnesota shootings, calling them 'horrific violence.' The president has, however, consistently broken new ground with his bellicose rhetoric toward his political opponents, whom he routinely calls 'sick' and 'evil,' and has talked repeatedly about how violence is needed to quell protests. The Minnesota attack occurred after Trump took the extraordinary step of mobilizing the military to try to control protests against his administration's immigration operations in Los Angeles during the last week, when he pledged to 'HIT' disrespectful protesters and warned of a 'migrant invasion' of the city. Dallek said Trump has been 'both a victim and an accelerant' of the charged, dehumanizing political rhetoric that is flooding the country. 'It feels as if the extremists are in the saddle,' he said, 'and the extremists are the ones driving our rhetoric and politics.' Riccardi writes for the Associated Press.
Politico
6 hours ago
- Politico
Pardon hopefuls pitch themselves as judicial system victims — just like Trump
President Donald Trump has railed against the judicial system for years. And prospective pardonees, in turn, are modeling themselves after Trump to increase their chances of winning his favor. The bulk of the over 1,500 clemencies the president has issued in his second term have been granted to celebrities, politicians, Trump donors and loyalists — including those convicted in connection with the Jan. 6 Capitol riot — many of whom have used their platforms to make the case that the judicial system was manipulated against them for political reasons, just like the president himself. After Trump pardoned his longtime supporter and former Virginia sheriff, Scott Jenkins, of conspiracy to commit bribery at the end of May, the Department of Justice pardon attorney, Ed Martin, took to X to make clear the administration's priorities: 'No MAGA left behind.' That spirit appears to have pervaded the administration's pardons process — or at least, the perception of it has. Some people in search of clemency, like former New Jersey Sen. Bob Menendez, a Democrat, have appeared to be angling for a pardon by hooking into Trump's argument about judicial weaponization, arguing that they, too, are victims of the system. Menendez has penned multiple lengthy tracts on X about his victimhood from the weaponization of the Justice Department, and made a thinly veiled plea for clemency in a post shortly after he was sentenced to 11 years in prison at the end of January. 'President Trump is right. This process is political and has been corrupted to the core. I hope President Trump cleans up the cesspool and restores integrity to the system,' Menendez wrote at the time, tagging the president's official account. The New Jersey Democrat has yet to receive Trump's blessing. A lawyer for Menendez did not respond to a request for comment. Menendez isn't the only Democrat who has seemingly cozied up to the president to clinch a pardon. New York Mayor Eric Adams appeared to pounce on the suggestion that Trump was open to granting him a pardon in his now-dismissed federal corruption case earlier this year, even showing up at the president's inauguration after repeatedly saying he was unlikely to attend the event. Adams' decision to pass on New York's Martin Luther King Jr. Day events to show face at Trump's inauguration rankled Black political and religious leaders in his home state, who said the choice indicated the mayor was more interested in a pardon than his constituents. His case was ultimately dismissed — over the objection of attorneys working on it — after Adams signaled he would assist the Trump administration on immigration and national security measures. White House deputy press secretary Harrison Fields maintained that the president is wielding his pardon powers 'to right many wrongs,' adding that Trump's actions fall 'within his constitutional authority.' 'President Trump doesn't need lectures from Democrats about his use of pardons,' Fields said in a statement, bashing Joe Biden's pardons of his son and Anthony Fauci, among others. 'President Trump is using his pardon and commutation powers to right many wrongs, acting reasonably and responsibly within his constitutional authority.' Others, like reality TV couple Julie and Todd Chrisley, have had better luck than Menendez. In a case that garnered national attention, Trump at the end of May pardoned the longtime reality stars, who had been convicted of bank and wire fraud in 2022 and sentenced to seven and 12 years in prison. The pardons came after a relentless messaging campaign by their daughter, Savannah, who publicly supported Trump throughout his 2024 presidential campaign and made an appearance at the Republican National Convention in Milwaukee to speak about the justice system that she said was targeting both her family and Trump. 'We have a two-faced justice system. Just look at what they're doing to President Trump,' she said at the 2024 convention. 'All while, let's face it, Hunter Biden is roaming around free and attending classified meetings.' After their May 28 pardon, the Chrisleys held a press conference where they thanked the president and his administration — and previewed their new TV series. Virginia Tech political science professor Karen Hult, who specializes in the powers of the presidency and the executive branch, said that while issuing pardons in arenas of personal interest to the president isn't necessarily unusual — see Jimmy Carter's pardon of people who evaded the Vietnam War draft — repeatedly circumventing the Justice Department's pardons process, as Trump has done, is a less-than-common occurrence. 'Mr. Trump, especially in his second term, seems to be especially distinctive in really not wanting to use advice from anybody else, but certainly not from career civil servants, especially in the Justice Department,' Hult said, noting that, for the first time in modern history, the president replaced the head of the DOJ's pardon office with a political appointee. Trump's selection of Martin, whose short-lived stint as the U.S. Attorney for D.C. ended after his nomination for the full-time job failed, put a vocal MAGA figure in the traditionally nonpolitical office. Martin has been a staunch defender of people connected with the Jan. 6 Capitol riot and fired dozens of prosecutors who pursued riot-related cases during his time as U.S. attorney. In response to a question about the nature of the pardon process and the perception of partisanship surrounding the system, a DOJ spokesperson said the office of the pardon attorney 'administers the executive process, reviews applications for executive clemency submitted to the Department of Justice, and makes recommendations to grant or deny those applications based on the Justice Manual,' adding that 'the Department is committed to timely and carefully reviewing all applications and making recommendations to the President and Pardon Czar that are consistent, unbiased, and uphold the rule of law.' A senior administration official, granted anonymity to speak freely about the pardons process, pushed back on claims that the administration was circumventing the traditional pardons process. The official maintained that the DOJ, Martin and pardon czar Alice Marie Johnson — who herself was the recipient of a 2020 pardon from Trump before he selected her for the role in his second term — review each pardon case individually before making their recommendations to the president. But not everyone is so eager to be spared. Pam Hemphill, who earned the online moniker 'MAGA Granny' for her role in the Capitol riot, was one of the Jan. 6 rioters pardoned by the president on his first day in office. But Hemphill, who has since apologized for the part she played in that day's violence and has spoken out against the president, rejected Trump's pardon, saying she doesn't want to play into Trump's hands. 'I cannot have this happen, because then I'm part of Trump's narrative that the DOJ is weaponized,' Hemphill said in an interview. According to Hemphill, Trump's lengthy list of pardons is part of his broader mission to build a narrative around the existence of the 'deep state' and argue that the DOJ was 'weaponized against him' under the Biden administration. But not all of those pardoned by Trump have obvious ties to the president. Two clemency recipients, Tanner Mansell and John Moore Jr., were pardoned of a 2022 theft conviction after freeing what they believed at the time to be illegally captured sharks from a line off the coast of Florida. Mansell said in an interview he's not sure why the president chose him as a pardon recipient. He said he has never promoted the president online — in fact the professional shark diver avoids publicly talking about politics in order to maintain a neutral business profile that doesn't alienate potential customers. According to Mansell, his legal team did not apply for a pardon. 'I'd love to ask him, like, 'Hey, did you do this because you like sharks?'' Mansell said of the president, adding that it's 'anybody's guess' what actually prompted Trump to pardon him. But whatever the reason, Mansell said he hoped the pardon wasn't 'politically driven.' 'I hope to believe that it wasn't just politically driven on his part,' he said. 'I hope to believe that, you know, he read Cato's article and he saw the injustice in the situation and did it because it was the right thing to do.'
Los Angeles Times
10 hours ago
- Los Angeles Times
A Border Patrol agent died in 2009. His widow is still fighting for federal benefits
When her husband died after a grueling U.S. Border Patrol training program for new agents, Lisa Afolayan applied for the federal benefits promised to families of first responders whose lives are cut short in the line of duty. Sixteen years later, Afolayan and her two daughters haven't seen a penny, and program officials are defending their decisions to deny them compensation. She calls it a nightmare that too many grieving families experience. 'It just makes me so mad that we are having to fight this so hard,' said Afolayan, whose husband, Nate, had been hired to guard the U.S. border with Mexico in Southern California. 'It takes a toll emotionally, and I don't think they care. To them, it's just a business. They're just pushing paper.' Afolayan's case is part of a backlog of claims plaguing the fast-growing Public Safety Officers' Benefits Program. Hundreds of families of deceased and disabled officers are waiting years to learn whether they qualify for the life-changing payments, and more are ultimately being denied, an Associated Press analysis of program data found. The program is falling far short of its goal of deciding claims within one year. Nearly 900 have been pending for longer than that, triple the number from five years earlier, in a backlog that includes cases from nearly every state, according to AP's review, which was based on program data through late April. More than 120 of those claims have been in limbo for at least five years, and roughly a dozen have languished for a decade. 'That is just outrageous that the person has to wait that long,' said Charlie Lauer, the program's general counsel in the 1980s. 'Those poor families.' Justice Department officials who oversee the program acknowledge the backlog. They say they're managing a surge in claims — which have more than doubled in the last five years — while making complicated decisions about whether cases meet legal criteria. In a statement, they said that 'claims involving complex medical and causation issues, voluminous evidence and conflicting medical opinions take longer to determine, as do claims in various stages of appeal.' It acknowledged that a few cases 'continue through the process over ten years.' Program officials wouldn't comment on Afolayan's case. Federal lawyers are asking an appeals court for a second time to uphold their denials, which blame Nate's heat- and exertion-related death on a genetic condition shared by millions of Black Americans. Nate Afolayan was Black. Supporters say Lisa Afolayan's resilience in pursuing the claim has been remarkable and grown in significance as training-related deaths like Nate's have risen. 'Your death must fit in their box, or your family's not going to be taken care of,' said Afolayan, who lives in suburban Dallas. Their daughter, Natalee, was 3 when her father died. She recently completed her first year at the University of Texas, without the help of the higher education benefits the program provides. Congress created the Public Safety Officers' Benefits program in 1976, providing a one-time $50,000 payout as a guarantee for those whose loved ones die in the line of duty. The benefit was later set to adjust with inflation; today it pays $448,575. The program has awarded more than $2.4 billion. Early on, claims were often adjudicated within weeks. But the complexity increased in 1990, when Congress extended the program to some disabled officers. A 1998 law added educational benefits for spouses and children. Since 2020, Congress has passed three laws expanding eligibility — to officers who died after contracting COVID-19, first responders who died or were disabled in rescue and cleanup operations from the 9/11 attacks, and some who die by suicide. Today, the program receives 1,200 claims annually, up from 500 in 2019. The wait time for decisions and rate of denials have risen alongside the caseload. Roughly 1 of every 3 death and disability claims were rejected over the last year. Sen. Ted Cruz of Texas and other Republicans recently introduced legislation to require the program to make determinations within 270 days, expressing outrage over the case of an officer disabled in a mass shooting who's waited years for a ruling. Similar legislation died last year. One group representing families, Concerns of Police Survivors, has expressed no such concerns about the program's management. The Missouri-based nonprofit recently received a $6-million grant to continue its long-standing partnership with the Justice Department to serve deceased officers' relatives — including providing counseling, hosting memorial events and assisting with claims. 'We are very appreciative of the PSOB and their work with survivor benefits,' spokesperson Sara Slone said. 'Not all line-of-duty deaths are the same and therefore processing times will differ.' Born in Nigeria, Nate Afolayan moved to California with relatives at age 11. He became a U.S. citizen and graduated from California State University a decade later. Lisa met Nate while they worked together at a juvenile probation office. They talked, went out for lunch and things flourished. 'The next thing you know, we were married with two kids,' she said. He decided to pursue a career in law enforcement once their second daughter was born. Lisa supported him, though she understood the danger. He spent a year working out while applying for jobs and was thrilled when the Border Patrol declared him medically fit, sent him to New Mexico for training and swore him in. Nate loved his 10 weeks at the academy, Lisa said, despite needing medical treatment several times — he was shot with pepper spray in the face and became dizzy during a water-based drill. His classmates found him to be a natural leader in elite shape and chose him to speak at graduation, they recalled in interviews with investigators. He prepared a speech with the line, 'We are all warriors that stand up and fight for what's right, just and lawful.' But on April 30, 2009 — days before the ceremony — a Border Patrol official called Lisa. Nate, 29, had fainted after his final training run and was hospitalized. It was dusty and 88 degrees in the high desert that afternoon. Agents had to complete the 1.5-mile run in 13 minutes, at an altitude of 3,400 feet. Nate had warned classmates it was too hot to wear their black academy shirts, but they voted to do so anyway, records show. Nate, 29, finished in just over 11 minutes, but then struggled to breathe and collapsed. Now Nate was being airlifted to a Lubbock, Texas, hospital for advanced treatment. Lisa booked a last-minute flight, arriving the next day. A doctor told her Nate's organs had shut down and they couldn't save his life. The hospital needed permission to end lifesaving efforts. One nurse delivered chest compressions; another held Lisa tightly as she yelled: 'That's it! I can't take it anymore!' Lisa became a single mother. The girls were 3 and 1. Her only comfort, she said, was knowing Nate died living his dream — serving his adopted country. When she first applied for benefits, Lisa included the death certificate that listed heat illness as the cause of Nate's death. The aid could help her family. She'd been studying to become a nurse but had to abandon that plan. She relied on Social Security survivors' benefits and workers' compensation while working at gyms as a trainer or receptionist and dabbling in real estate. The program had paid benefits for several similar training deaths, dating to a Massachusetts officer who suffered heat stroke and dehydration in 1988. But program staff wanted another opinion on Nate's death. They turned to outside forensic pathologist Dr. Stephen Cina. Cina concluded the autopsy overlooked the 'most significant factor': Nate carried sickle cell trait, a condition that's usually benign but has been linked to rare exertion-related deaths in military, sports and law enforcement training. Cina opined that exercising in a hot climate at high altitude triggered a crisis in which Nate's red blood cells became misshapen, depriving his body of oxygen. Cina, who stopped consulting for the benefits program in 2020 after hundreds of case reviews, declined to comment. Nate learned he had the condition, carried by up to 3 million Black Americans, after a blood test following his second daughter's birth. The former high school basketball player had never experienced any problems. A Border Patrol spokesperson declined to say whether academy leaders knew of the condition, which experts say can be managed with precautions such as staying hydrated, avoiding workouts in extreme temperatures and altitudes, and taking rest breaks. Under the benefit program's rules, Afolayan's death would need to be 'the direct and proximate result' of an injury he suffered on duty to qualify. It couldn't be the result of ordinary physical strain. The program in 2012 rejected the claim, saying the hot, dry, high climate was one factor, but not the most important. It had been more than two years since Lisa Afolayan applied and three since Nate's death. Most rejected applicants don't exercise their option to appeal to an independent hearing officer, saying they can't afford attorneys or want to get on with their lives. But Lisa Afolayan appealed with help from a Border Patrol union. A one-day hearing was held in late 2012. The hearing officer denied her claim more than a year later, saying a 'perfect storm' of factors causing the death didn't include a qualifying injury. Lisa and her daughters moved from California to Texas. They visited the National Law Enforcement Officers Memorial in Washington, where they saw Nate's name. Four years passed without an update on the claim. Lisa learned the union had failed to exercise its final appeal, to the program director, due to an oversight. The union didn't respond to AP emails seeking comment. Then she met Suzie Sawyer, founder and retired executive director of Concerns of Police Survivors. Sawyer had recently helped win a long battle to obtain benefits in the death of another federal agent who'd collapsed during training. 'I said, 'Lisa, this could be the fight of your life, and it could take forever,'' Sawyer recalled. ''Are you willing to do it?' She goes, 'Hell, yes.'' The two persuaded the program to hear the appeal even though the deadline had passed. They introduced a list of similar claims that had been granted and new evidence: A Tennessee medical examiner concluded the hot, dry environment and altitude were key factors causing Nate's organ-system failure. But the program was unmoved. The acting Bureau of Justice Assistance director upheld the denial in 2020. Such rulings usually aren't public, but Lisa fumed as she learned through contacts about some whose deaths qualified, including a trooper who had an allergic reaction to a bee sting, an intoxicated FBI agent who crashed his car, and another officer with sickle cell trait who died after a training run on a hot day. In 2022, Lisa thought she might have finally prevailed when a federal appeals court ordered the program to take another look at her application. A three-judge panel said the program erred by failing to consider whether the heat, humidity and altitude during the run were 'the type of unusual or out-of-the-ordinary climatic conditions that would qualify.' The judges also said it may have been illegal to rely on sickle cell trait for the denial under a federal law prohibiting employers from discrimination on the basis of genetic information. It was great timing: The girls were in high school and could use the monthly benefit of $1,530 to help pay for college. The family's Social Security and workers' compensation benefits would end soon. But the program was in no hurry. Nearly two years passed without a ruling despite inquiries from Afolayan and her lawyer. The Bureau of Justice Assistance director upheld the denial in February 2024, ruling that the climate on that day 15 years earlier wasn't 'unusually adverse.' The decision concluded the Genetic Information Nondiscrimination Act didn't apply since the program wasn't Nate Afolayan's employer. Arnold & Porter, a Washington law firm now representing Lisa Afolayan pro bono, has appealed to the U.S. Court of Appeals for the Federal Circuit. Her attorney John Elwood said the program has gotten bogged down in minutiae while losing sight of the bigger picture: that an officer died during mandatory training. He said government lawyers are fighting him just as hard, 'if not harder,' than on any other case he's handled. Months after filing their briefs, oral arguments haven't been set. 'This has been my life for 16 years,' Lisa Afolayan said. 'Sometimes I just chuckle and keep moving, because what else am I going to do?' Foley writes for the Associated Press.
