New Zealand Parliament votes for record suspensions of 3 lawmakers who performed Māori haka
WELLINGTON, New Zealand (AP) — New Zealand legislators voted Thursday to enact record suspensions from Parliament for three lawmakers who performed a Māori haka to protest a proposed law.
Hana-Rāwhiti Maipi-Clarke received a seven-day ban and her colleagues from Te Pāti Māori, the Māori Party, Debbie Ngarewa-Packer and Rawiri Waititi, are barred for 21 days.
Three days had been the longest ban from New Zealand's Parliament before.
They performed the haka last November to oppose a bill they said would reverse Indigenous rights. The protest provoked months of dispute among lawmakers about what the consequences should be. Thursday's vote followed hours of fraught debate in Parliament.
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San Francisco Chronicle
an hour ago
- San Francisco Chronicle
Iranian rapper Tataloo once supported a hard-line presidential candidate. Now he faces execution
DUBAI, United Arab Emirates (AP) — The tattoos covering Iranian rapper Tataloo's face stand out against the gray prison uniform the 37-year-old now wears as he awaits execution, his own rise and fall tracing the chaos of the last decade of Iranian politics. Tataloo, whose full name is Amir Hossein Maghsoudloo, faces a death sentence after being convicted on charges of 'insulting Islamic sanctities.' It's a far cry from when he once supported a hard-line Iranian presidential candidate. Tataloo's music became popular among the Islamic Republic's youth, as it challenged Iran's theocracy at a time when opposition to the country's government was splintered and largely leaderless. The rapper's lyrics became increasingly political after the 2022 death of Mahsa Amini and the subsequent wave of nationwide protests. He also appeared in music videos which criticized the authorities. 'When you show your face in a music video, you are saying, 'Hey, I'm here, and I don't care about your restrictions,'' said Ali Hamedani, a former BBC journalist who interviewed the rapper in 2005. 'That was brave.' The Iranian Supreme Court last month upheld his death sentence. 'This ruling has now been confirmed and is ready for execution,' judiciary spokesman Asghar Jahangir told reporters at a press conference last month. Activists have decried his looming execution and expressed concern for his safety after he reportedly tried to kill himself in prison. From a music video on a warship to exile Tataloo began his music career in 2003 as part of an underground genre of Iranian music that combines Western styles of rap, rhythm-and-blues and rock with Farsi lyrics. His first album, released in 2011, polarized audiences, though he never played publicly in Iran, where its Ministry of Culture and Islamic Guidance controls all concerts. Tataloo appeared in a 2015 music video backing Iran's paramilitary Revolutionary Guard and Tehran's nuclear program, which long has been targeted by the West over fears it could allow the Islamic Republic to develop an atomic bomb. While he never discussed the motivation behind this, it appeared that the rapper had hoped to win favor with the theocracy or perhaps have a travel ban against him lifted. In the video for 'Energy Hasteei," or 'Nuclear Energy,' Tataloo sings a power ballad in front of rifle-wielding guardsmen and later aboard the Iranian frigate Damavand in the Caspian Sea. The ship later sank during a storm in 2018. 'This is our absolute right: To have an armed Persian Gulf,' Tataloo sang. Tataloo even issued an endorsement for hard-liner Ebrahim Raisi in 2017. That year, the two sat for a televised appearance as part of Raisi's failed presidential campaign against the relative moderate Hassan Rouhani. Raisi later won the presidency in 2021, but was killed in a helicopter crash in 2024. Fame in Turkey, prison back in Iran In 2018, Tataloo — who faced legal problems in Iran — was allowed to leave the country for Turkey, where many Persian singers and performers stage lucrative concerts. Tataloo hosted live video sessions as he rose to fame on social media, where he became well-known for his tattoos covering his face and body. Among them are an Iranian flag and an image of his mother next to a key and heart. Instagram deactivated his account in 2020 after he called for underage girls to join his 'team' for sex. He also acknowledged taking drugs. 'Despite being a controversial rapper, Tataloo has quite the fanbase in Iran, known as 'Tatalities,'' said Holly Dagres, a senior fellow at the Washington Institute for Near-East Policy. 'Over the years, they've flooded social media with messages of solidarity for him and even campaigned for the rapper's release in the past when he was detained on separate charges.' Tataloo's rebellious music struck a chord with disenfranchised young people in Iran as they struggled to find work, get married and start their adult lives. He also increasingly challenged Iran's theocracy in his lyrics, particularly after the death of Amini following her arrest over allegedly not wearing the hijab to the liking of authorities. His collaboration 'Enghelab Solh" — 'Peace Revolution' in Farsi — called out Iran's Supreme Leader Ayatollah Ali Khamenei by name. 'We don't want tear gas, because there are tears in everyone's eyes,' he rapped. But the music stopped for Tataloo in late 2023. He was deported from Turkey after his passport had expired, and was immediately taken into custody upon arrival to Iran. Death sentence draws protests Tehran's Criminal Court initially handed Tataloo a five-year sentence for blasphemy. Iran's Supreme Court threw out the decision and sent his case to another court, which sentenced him to death in January. The rapper already faced ten years in prison for a string of separate convictions, including promoting prostitution and moral corruption. 'Tataloo is at serious risk of execution,' Mahmood Amiry-Moghaddam, the director of advocacy group Iran Human Rights, said in a statement. 'The international community, artists and the public must act to stop his execution.' Tataloo earlier expressed remorse at a trial. 'I have certainly made mistakes, and many of my actions were wrong,' he said, according to the state-owned Jam-e Jam daily newspaper. 'I apologize for the mistakes I made.' Tataloo married while on death row, his uncle said. Last month, Tataloo reportedly attempted to kill himself, but survived. His death sentence comes at a politically fraught moment for Iran as the country is at it's 'most isolated,' said Abbas Milani, an Iran expert at Stanford University. The Islamic Republic is 'desperately trying to see whether it can arrive at a deal with the U.S. on its nuclear program and have the sanctions lifted,' he said. Drawing the ire of Tataloo's fans is 'one headache they don't need,' he added. ___
Hamilton Spectator
an hour ago
- Hamilton Spectator
Raising school fees torments many Africans. Some expect the Catholic Church to do more to help
KAMPALA, Uganda (AP) — A crying parent with an unpaid tuition balance walked into the staff room of a Catholic private school and begged the teachers to help enroll her son. The school's policy required the woman pay at least 60% of her son's full tuition bill before he could join the student body. She didn't have the money and was led away. 'She was pleading, 'Please help me,'' said Beatrice Akite, a teacher at St. Kizito Secondary School in Uganda's capital city, who witnessed the outburst. 'It was very embarrassing. We had never seen something like that.' Two weeks into second term, Akite recounted the woman's desperate moment to highlight how distressed parents are being crushed by unpredictable fees they can't pay, forcing their children to drop out of school. It's leaving many in sub-Saharan Africa — which has the world's highest dropout rates — to criticize the mission-driven Catholic Church for not doing enough to ease the financial pressure families face. Legacy of Catholic education across Africa The Catholic Church is the region's largest nongovernmental investor in education. Catholic schools have long been a pillar of affordable but high-quality education, especially for poor families. Their appeal remains strong even with competition from other nongovernmental investors now eying schools as enterprises for profit. The growing trend toward privatization is sparking concern that the Catholic Church may price out the people who need uplifting. Akite hopes Catholic leaders support measures that would streamline fees across schools of comparable quality. Firm fee ceilings need to be set, she said. Kampala's St. Kizito Secondary School, where Akite teaches literature, was founded by priests of the Comboni missionary order, known for its dedication to serving poor communities. Its students come mostly from working-class families and tuition per term is roughly $300, a substantial sum in a country where GDP per capita was about $1,000 in 2023. Yet that tuition is lower than at many other Catholic-run schools in Kampala, where many students report later in the term because they can't raise school fees in time, Akite said. Late starts, long lines, extension requests One of the most expensive private schools in Kampala, the Catholic-run Uganda Martyrs' Secondary School Namugongo, maintains a policy of 'zero balance' when a child reports to school at the beginning of a three-month term. This means students must be fully paid by the time they report to school. Tuition at the school was once as high as $800 but has since dropped to about $600 as enrollment swelled to nearly 5,000, said deputy headmaster James Batte. On a recent morning, there was a queue of parents waiting outside Batte's office to request more time to clear tuition balances. Daniel Birungi, an electrical engineer in Kampala whose son enrolled this year at St. Mary's College Kisubi, a leading school for boys in Uganda, said the emerging risk for traditional Catholic schools is to cater only to the rich. There is hot water in the bathrooms, he said, describing what he felt was a trend toward levels of luxury he never imagined as a student there in the 1990s. Now, students are prohibited from packing snacks and instead encouraged to buy what they need from school-owned canteens, he said. That has 'put us under a lot of pressure,' he said. Tuition at St. Mary's College Kisubi is roughly $800 per term, and Birungi doubts he will be able to regularly pay school fees on time. 'You can go there and see the brother and negotiate,' he said, referring to the headmaster. 'I am planning to go there and see him and ask for that consideration.' The effects of a private education system The World Bank reported in 2023 that 54% of adults in sub-Saharan Africa rank the issue of paying school fees higher than medical bills and other expenses. That's partly because education is largely in private hands, with the most desirable schools controlled by profit-seeking owners. Schools run by the Catholic Church are not usually registered as profit-making entities, but those who run those schools say they wouldn't be competitive if they were run merely as charities. They say they face the same maintenance costs as others in the field and offer scholarships to exceptional students. Regulating tuition is not easy, said Ronald Reagan Okello, a priest who oversees education at the Catholic Secretariat in Kampala. He urges parents to send their children to schools they can afford. 'As the Catholic Church, also we are competing with those who are in the private sector,' said Okello, the national executive secretary for education with the Ugandan bishops conference. 'Now, as you are competing, the other ones are setting the bar high. They are giving you good services. But now putting the standard to that level, we are forced to raise the school fees to match the demands of the people who can afford.' Across the region, the Catholic Church has built a reputation as a key provider of formal education in areas often underserved by the state. Its schools are cherished by families of all means for their values, discipline and academic success. In Zimbabwe, the Catholic Church operates about 100 schools, ranging from dozens in impoverished areas where annual tuition is as low as $150 to elite boarding schools that can charge thousands of dollars. But a legacy of inclusion is under pressure in the southern African nation due to fee increases at boarding schools and efforts by Catholic leaders to fully privatize some schools. Many boarding schools already charge tuition fees between $600 and $800, prohibitive for the working class in a country where most civil servants make less than a $300 per month. Privatization will raise tuition fees even higher, warned Peter Muzawazi, a prominent educator in Zimbabwe. Muzawazi, who attended Catholic schools, once was the headmaster of Marist Brothers, a top Catholic school for boys in Zimbabwe. That school in Nyanga is among those earmarked for privatization. 'I know in the Catholic Church there is a lot of space for reasonable fees for day scholars, but for boarders there is need to be watching because the possibility that they would be out of reach for the vulnerable is there,' he said. The church needs to be actively engaged, he said. 'How do we continue to guarantee education for the poor?' Efforts to privatize church-founded schools have sparked debate in Zimbabwe, which for years has been in economic decline stemming in part from sanctions imposed by the U.S. and others. Authorities say privatizing these schools is necessary to maintain standards, even as critics warn Catholic leaders not to turn their backs on poor people. 'Schools have now turned into businesses,' Martin Chaburumunda, president of the Zimbabwe Rural Teachers' Union, told The Manica Post, a state-run weekly. 'Churches now appear only hungry for money as opposed to educating the communities they operate in.' Rather than privatizing old mission schools, the church should invest in building new ones if it's useful to experiment with different funding models, said Muzawazi, a lay Catholic who serves on the governing council of the Catholic University of Zimbabwe. 'The bright people who advance the cause of countries are not the rich ones,' he said. 'We want every church and every nation to tap the potential of every person, regardless of economic status.' ___ Mutsaka reported from Harare, Zimbabwe. ___ Associated Press religion coverage receives support through the AP's collaboration with The Conversation US, with funding from Lilly Endowment Inc. The AP is solely responsible for this content. Error! Sorry, there was an error processing your request. There was a problem with the recaptcha. Please try again. You may unsubscribe at any time. By signing up, you agree to our terms of use and privacy policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google privacy policy and terms of service apply. Want more of the latest from us? Sign up for more at our newsletter page .
Hamilton Spectator
an hour ago
- Hamilton Spectator
Trump officials are vowing to end school desegregation orders. Some parents say they're still needed
FERRIDAY, La. (AP) — Even at a glance, the differences are obvious. The walls of Ferriday High School are old and worn, surrounded by barbed wire. Just a few miles away, Vidalia High School is clean and bright, with a new library and a crisp blue 'V' painted on orange brick. Ferriday High is 90% Black . Vidalia High is 62% white. For Black families, the contrast between the schools suggests 'we're not supposed to have the finer things,' said Brian Davis, a father in Ferriday. 'It's almost like our kids don't deserve it,' he said. The schools are part of Concordia Parish, which was ordered to desegregate 60 years ago and remains under a court-ordered plan to this day. Yet there's growing momentum to release the district — and dozens of others — from decades-old orders that some call obsolete. In a remarkable reversal, the Justice Department said it plans to start unwinding court-ordered desegregation plans dating to the Civil Rights Movement. Officials started in April, when they lifted a 1960s order in Louisiana's Plaquemines Parish. Harmeet Dhillon, who leads the department's civil rights division, has said others will 'bite the dust.' It comes amid pressure from Republican Gov. Jeff Landry and his attorney general, who have called for all the state's remaining orders to be lifted. They describe the orders as burdens on districts and relics of a time when Black students were still forbidden from some schools. The orders were always meant to be temporary — school systems can be released if they demonstrate they fully eradicated segregation. Decades later, that goal remains elusive, with stark racial imbalances persisting in many districts. Civil rights groups say the orders are important to keep as tools to address the legacy of forced segregation — including disparities in student discipline , academic programs and teacher hiring. They point to cases like Concordia, where the decades-old order was used to stop a charter school from favoring white students in admissions. 'Concordia is one where it's old, but a lot is happening there,' said Deuel Ross, deputy director of litigation for the NAACP Legal Defense Fund. 'That's true for a lot of these cases. They're not just sitting silently.' Debates over integration are far from settled Last year, before President Donald Trump took office, Concordia Parish rejected a Justice Department plan that would have ended its case if the district combined several majority white and majority Blac k elementary and middle schools. At a town hall meeting, Vidalia residents vigorously opposed the plan, saying it would disrupt students' lives and expose their children to drugs and violence. An official from the Louisiana attorney general's office spoke against the proposal and said the Trump administration likely would change course on older orders. Accepting the plan would have been a 'death sentence' for the district, said Paul Nelson, a former Concordia superintendent. White families would have fled to private schools or other districts, said Nelson, who wants the court order removed. 'It's time to move on,' said Nelson, who left the district in 2016. 'Let's start looking to build for the future, not looking back to what our grandparents may have gone through.' At Ferriday High, athletic coach Derrick Davis supported combining schools in Ferriday and Vidalia. He said the district's disparities come into focus whenever his teams visit schools with newer sports facilities. 'It seems to me, if we'd all combine, we can all get what we need,' he said. Others oppose merging schools if it's done solely for the sake of achieving racial balance. 'Redistricting and going to different places they're not used to ... it would be a culture shock to some people,' said Ferriday's school resource officer, Marcus Martin, who, like Derrick Davis, is Black. The district's current superintendent and school board did not respond to requests for comment. Federal orders offer leverage for racial discrimination cases Concordia is among more than 120 districts across the South that remain under desegregation orders from the 1960s and '70s, including about a dozen in Louisiana. Calling the orders historical relics is 'unequivocally false,' said Shaheena Simons, who until April led the Justice Department section that oversees school desegregation cases. 'Segregation and inequality persist in our schools, and they persist in districts that are still under desegregation orders,' she said. With court orders in place, families facing discrimination can reach out directly to the Justice Department or seek relief from the court. Otherwise, the only recourse is a lawsuit, which many families can't afford, Simons said. In Concordia, the order played into a battle over a charter school that opened in 2013 on the former campus of an all-white private school. To protect the area's progress on racial integration, a judge ordered Delta Charter School to build a student body that reflected the district's racial demographics. But in its first year, the school was just 15% Black. After a court challenge, Delta was ordered to give priority to Black students. Today, about 40% of its students are Black. Desegregation orders have been invoked recently in other cases around the state. One led to an order to address disproportionately high rates of discipline for Black students, and in another a predominantly Black elementary school was relocated from a site close to a chemical plant . The Justice Department could easily end some desegregation orders The Trump administration was able to close the Plaquemines case with little resistance because the original plaintiffs were no longer involved — the Justice Department was litigating the case alone. Concordia and an unknown number of other districts are in the same situation, making them vulnerable to quick dismissals. Concordia's case dates to 1965, when the area was strictly segregated and home to a violent offshoot of the Ku Klux Klan. When Black families in Ferriday sued for access to all-white schools, the federal government intervened. As the district integrated its schools, white families fled Ferriday. The district's schools came to reflect the demographics of their surrounding areas. Ferriday is mostly Black and low-income, while Vidalia is mostly white and takes in tax revenue from a hydroelectric plant. A third town in the district, Monterey, has a high school that's 95% white. At the December town hall, Vidalia resident Ronnie Blackwell said the area 'feels like a Mayberry, which is great,' referring to the fictional Southern town from 'The Andy Griffith Show.' The federal government, he said, has 'probably destroyed more communities and school systems than it ever helped.' Under its court order, Concordia must allow students in majority Black schools to transfer to majority white schools. It also files reports on teacher demographics and student discipline. After failing to negotiate a resolution with the Justice Department, Concordia is scheduled to make its case that the judge should dismiss the order, according to court documents. Meanwhile, amid a wave of resignations in the federal government, all but two of the Justice Department lawyers assigned to the case have left. Without court supervision, Brian Davis sees little hope for improvement. 'A lot of parents over here in Ferriday, they're stuck here because here they don't have the resources to move their kids from A to B,' he said. 'You'll find schools like Ferriday — the term is, to me, slipping into darkness.' ___ The Associated Press' education coverage receives financial support from multiple private foundations. AP is solely responsible for all content. Find AP's standards for working with philanthropies, a list of supporters and funded coverage areas at . Error! Sorry, there was an error processing your request. There was a problem with the recaptcha. Please try again. You may unsubscribe at any time. By signing up, you agree to our terms of use and privacy policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google privacy policy and terms of service apply. Want more of the latest from us? Sign up for more at our newsletter page .
