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ASU founder's great niece offers keynote address during Founder's Day ceremony

ASU founder's great niece offers keynote address during Founder's Day ceremony

Yahoo08-04-2025

ALBANY – Sitting on a brick retaining wall around a tree on Albany State University's lower campus area, athletic trainer Michael Moore reflected on the three gifts he has been blessed with at his alma mater: his education, standard of living and 'my beautiful wife of 34 years.'
Moore was among the audience that attended the annual convocation that highlights the four days of Founder's Day activities at the institution, which included a Friday program at the Billy C. Black Auditorium, followed by the laying of wreaths at the graves of founder Joseph Winthrop Holley and former President William H. Dennis.
'I always come back for Founder's Day,' the 1984 graduate, former basketball coach and Millidgeville native said. 'It represents a past to cherish and a future to fulfil.'
Prior to the ceremony, Holley's great-niece, Nikeya Taylor reflected on her family's involvement in the origins of the Albany Bible and Manual Institution in 1903. Her great-uncle, one of a large family whose parents were freed slaves in North Carolina, traveled to Albany to start the college.
Inspired by W.E.B. DuBois, who wrote about Albany in his book 'The Souls of Black Folk,' Holly was joined by some of his siblings.
'When we were young, we were told one of our relatives built a college in a small town in Georgia,' Taylor said. 'I pictured one old shack that was long gone.'
Later she learned about the history and became familiar with how the college dedicated to Bible studies and training teachers had become an important educational institution that thrived. Making the trek to Albany to 'strike a blow against ignorance,' Holley succeeded, she said.
'Today, we find ourselves under an attack on the foundations of our very democracy,' Taylor said. 'We're seeing attempts to roll back civil rights … all in an attempt to divide us. All of you sitting here right now are our next business leaders, professors, politicians and activists. Will we take action? Will we strike a blow to the ignorance?'
Reflecting on the theme for 2025 — 'From Foundations to Frontiers: 122 Years of Progress and Promise' — Taylor said it is fitting for the times.
'This year's theme reminds us that while the founder laid the foundation, we are responsible for shaping the future,' she said. 'When you graduate, please do not forget where you came from.
'Return and invest in this institution and this community. This will ensure future generations have what you had. Make sure that you give back. Help continue the community Dr. Holley worked for. Let us promise to keep strong, to keep pushing barriers, because if not us, who will?'
In learning her great-uncle's role as a leader, Taylor, who serves as president of the Jacksonville Chapter of the NETwork BICP (Black Integrated Communications Professionals) through which she leads initiatives in mentorship, professional development and service, said that she learned to be a leader herself.
'It is not about what we've achieved, it is about what's possible,' she said. 'I have learned it is important to keep our history alive.'
Each year, ASU's Founder's Day programs bring alumni back to the school. Among those returning on Friday was Anne Brown of Atlanta.
'I come back every year for Founder's Day, for Homecoming, the Classic (football game) in Columbus,' Brown said. 'It's beautiful. I come back every year just to support the school.'

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Southern Baptists overwhelmingly call for a ban on same-sex marriage
Southern Baptists overwhelmingly call for a ban on same-sex marriage

Hamilton Spectator

time2 hours ago

  • Hamilton Spectator

Southern Baptists overwhelmingly call for a ban on same-sex marriage

DALLAS (AP) — Southern Baptists overwhelmingly endorsed a ban on same-sex marriage — including a call for a reversal of the U.S. Supreme Court's 10-year-old precedent legalizing it nationwide. They also called for legislators to curtail sports betting and to support policies that promote childbearing. The votes came at the gathering of more than 10,000 church representatives at the annual meeting of the nation's largest Protestant denomination. The wide-ranging resolution doesn't use the word 'ban,' but it left no room for legal same-sex marriage in calling for the 'overturning of laws and court rulings, including Obergefell v. Hodges, that defy God's design for marriage and family.' Further, the resolution affirmatively calls 'for laws that affirm marriage between one man and one women.' A reversal of the Supreme Court's 2015 Obergefell decision wouldn't in and of itself amount to a nationwide ban. At the time of that ruling, 36 states had already legalized same-sex marriage, and support remains strong in many areas. However, if the convention got its wish, not only would Obergefell be overturned, but so would every law and court ruling that affirmed same-sex marriage. There was no debate on the marriage resolution. That in itself is not surprising in the solidly conservative denomination, which has long defined marriage as between one man and one woman. However, it marks an especially assertive step in its call for the reversal of a decade-old Supreme Court ruling, as well as any other legal pillars to same-sex marriage in law and court precedent. Gender identity, fertility and other issues The marriage issue was incorporated into a much larger resolution on marriage and family — one that calls for civil law to be based on what the convention says is the divinely created order as stated in the Bible. The resolution says legislators have a duty to 'pass laws that reflect the truth of creation and natural law — about marriage, sex, human life, and family' and to oppose laws contradicting 'what God has made plain through nature and Scripture.' The same resolution calls for recognizing 'the biological reality of male and female' and opposes 'any law or policy that compels people to speak falsehoods about sex and gender.' It urges Christians to 'embrace marriage and childbearing' and to see children 'as blessings rather than burdens.' But it also frames that issue as one of public policy. It calls for 'for renewed moral clarity in public discourse regarding the crisis of declining fertility and for policies that support the bearing and raising of children within intact, married families.' It laments that modern culture is 'pursuing willful childlessness which contributes to a declining fertility rate,' echoing a growing subject of discourse on the religious and political right. The pornography resolution, which had no debate, calls such material destructive, addictive and exploitive and says governments have the power to ban it. The sports betting resolution draws on Southern Baptists' historic opposition to gambling. It called sports betting 'harmful and predatory.' One pastor urged an amendment to distinguish between low-stakes, recreational gambling and predatory, addictive gambling activities. But his proposed amendment failed. Whistleblower's death casts pall on Dallas meeting The two-day annual meeting began Tuesday morning with praise sessions and optimistic reports about growing numbers of baptisms. But casting a pall over the gathering is the recent death of one of the most high-profile whistleblowers in the Southern Baptists' scandal of sexual abuse. Jennifer Lyell, a onetime denominational publishing executive who went public in 2019 with allegations that she had been sexually abused by a seminary professor while a student, died Saturday at 47. She 'suffered catastrophic strokes,' a friend and fellow advocate, Rachael Denhollander , posted Sunday on X. Friends reported that the backlash Lyell received after going public with her report took a devastating toll on her. Several abuse survivors and advocates for reform, who previously had a prominent presence in recent SBC meetings, are skipping this year's gathering, citing lack of progress by the convention. Two people sought to fill that void, standing vigil outside of the meeting at the Kay Bailey Hutchison Convention Center Dallas as attendees walked by. The pair held up signs with photos of Lyell and of Gareld Duane Rollins, who died earlier this spring and who was among those who accused longtime SBC power broker Paul Pressler of sexual abuse. 'It's not a healthy thing for them (survivors) to be here,' said Johnna Harris, host of a podcast on abuse in evangelical ministries. 'I felt like it was important for someone to show up. I want people to know there are people who care.' Past attempts at reforms in the SBC The SBC Executive Committee, in a 2022 apology, acknowledged 'its failure to adequately listen, protect, and care for Jennifer Lyell when she came forward to share her story.' It also acknowledged the denomination's official news agency had not accurately reported the situation as 'sexual abuse by a trusted minister in a position of power at a Southern Baptist seminary.' SBC officials issued statements this week lamenting Lyell's death, but her fellow advocates have denounced what they say is a failure to implement reforms. The SBC's 2022 meeting voted overwhelmingly to create a way to track pastors and other church workers credibly accused of sex abuse. That came shortly after the release of a blockbuster report by an outside consultant, which said Southern Baptist leaders mishandled abuse cases and stonewalled victims for years. But the denomination's Executive Committee president, Jeff Iorg, said earlier this year that creating a database is not a focus and that the committee instead plans to refer churches to existing databases of sex offenders and focus on education about abuse prevention. The committee administers the denomination's day-to-day business. Advocates for reform don't see those approaches as adequate. It is the latest instance of 'officials trailing out hollow words, impotent task forces and phony dog-and-pony shows of reform,' abuse survivor and longtime advocate Christa Brown wrote on Baptist News Global , which is not SBC-affiliated. In a related action, the Executive Committee will also be seeking $3 million in convention funding for ongoing legal expenses related to abuse cases. What else is on the agenda? As of late Tuesday afternoon, attendance was at 10,541 church representatives (known as messengers). That is less than a quarter of the total that thronged the SBC's annual meeting 40 years ago this month in a Dallas showdown that marked the height of battles over control of the convention, ultimately won by the more conservative-fundamentalist side led by Pressler and his allies. Messengers will also debate whether to institute a constitutional ban on churches with women pastors and to abolish its public-policy arm, the Ethics and Religious Liberty Commission — which is staunchly conservative, but according to critics, not enough so. Brent Leatherwood, president of the ERLC, said Tuesday he would address the 'turbulence' during his scheduled remarks Wednesday but was confident in the messengers' support. ___ 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. 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Reports: Virginia Democrats outdoing Republicans in raising campaign contributions
Reports: Virginia Democrats outdoing Republicans in raising campaign contributions

Yahoo

time7 hours ago

  • Yahoo

Reports: Virginia Democrats outdoing Republicans in raising campaign contributions

Democratic House of Delegates hopeful Kimberly Pope Adams raised the second-highest amount in Virginia of contributions to House campaigns for the latest campaign reporting period, according to the nonpartisan Virginia Public Access Project. Pope Adams, who has already locked up the Democratic nomination in the 82nd House District, reported a total of $262,048 in money raised for the April 1-June 5 window, based on data from the Virginia Department of Elections that was compiled by VPAP. That trailed only House Speaker Don Scott of Portsmouth, who raised just over $344,000 for the period. Political watchers were keeping a close eye on this round of reports, the last before the crucial June 17 party primaries across Virginia. Like Pope Adams, Scott already has the Democratic nod sewn up. He also does not appear to have any GOP opposition this year. The only House primary next week in the Tri-City area is in District 75 where three Democrats are vying to oppose Republican incumbent Carrie Coyner. In that contest, Lindsey Dougherty continues to outdistance Dustin Wade and Stephen Miller-Pitts. For the reporting period, Dougherty raised $171,695, compared to $136,276 for Wade and $4,471 for Miller-Pitts. As of June 5, Wade showed more than $100,000 in cash on hand over Dougherty and five times more than Miller-Pitts. VPAP reported Dougherty raising the sixth-highest amount of contributions for the period, and Wade the 12th. Dougherty and Miller-Pitts ran against Coyner in the 2019 and 2023 elections, respectively. The 75th District covers all of Hopewell and portions of Chesterfield and Prince George counties. More: The primary menu for June 17: Heavy on the state races and a first time for Petersburg In the 82nd District [Petersburg, Surry County, portions of Dinwiddie and Prince George], Pope Adams continues to run away from GOP incumbent Kim Taylor in campaign contributions. For the latest reporting period, Pope Adams' total was more than four times that of Taylor, who listed receiving $64,489 in donations. Her cash-on-hand amount of $289,468 was eight times more than Taylor's $34,502. The race is a rerun of 2023's race, one of the top three most expensive contests in recent Virginia political history. Taylor squeaked out a victory over Pope Adams by only 53 votes following a recount, and Democrats are clocking the 2025 race as pivotal in holding their slim majority in the House for the next two years. Pope Adams' contributions included $25,000 from the Clean Virginia Fund on April 23, $7,500 from the Jane Fonda Climate PAC on May 14, and three $5,000 donations from Elizabeth Simons on May 29, The Next 50 PAC on April 30 and Fund Her PAC on April 29. Taylor's largest contributions for the period were $20,000 from the Dominion Energy PAC on May 8, $10,000 from the Wren Williams for Delegate campaign on April 24, and identical $7,500 amounts from Friends of Scott Wyatt on April 2 and Chris Runion for Delegate on June 5. The reports indicate Taylor getting three donations of $100 or less, and Pope Adams receiving 1,461. More: House GOP incumbent lauds endorsement from local Democratic group. Democrats cry 'foul' In the 75th District primary, Dougherty received two contributions totaling $80,000 from the super PAC Secure Progress and $35,000 from the campaign of Democratic Del. Dan Helmer. Wade's top donations were $5,000 from himself and two donations from Anita Thurston totaling $4,500. Miller-Pitts' sole contribution of over $100 for the period was $250 from Rhonda Clanton-Davis. Coyner, a Republican seeking her fourth term in the House, received $69,056 in contributions over the period. Her largest donations were $10,000 from Carolyn Williams, $7,500 from Strong Start PAC, and three of $5,000 each from Thomas McInerney, Vision Management Services, and Clean Virginia Fund. Records indicate her having $315,350 in cash on hand as of June 5. The district traditionally leans Republican. Coyner has won re-election with as much as 55% of the vote, but Democrats still target her as vulnerable. In Petersburg, history is being made with the first-ever Democratic primary for the constitutional officer Commissioner of the Revenue. Incumbent Brittani Flowers is being challenged by Mary 'Liz Stith' Howard for the right to be the Democrat on the November ballot. Five years ago, the Virginia General Assembly voted to allow any local-office candidate [except School Board] to seek official party backing. The law went into effect last year, as Petersburg Vice Mayor Darrin Hill received the Democratic nomination for his Ward 2 seat by acclimation. The commissioner primary is the first contested one in Petersburg. Campaign records show Flowers receiving just shy of $3,000 in contributions for the reporting period. Her largest donations were $500 from former state Senate candidate Waylin Ross and $300 from Bernard Flowers Jr. Howard did not record any contributions for the reporting period. Petersburg City Councilor Marlow Jones, who is running as an independent for Virginia's lieutenant governor, raised $700 in donations during the latest reporting period. Five hundred dollars came from three contributions of more than $100. The remaining $200 was split among five contributions of less than $100. To see the latest donation data for any race this year, click on the VPAP website. Bill Atkinson (he/him/his) is an award-winning journalist who covers breaking news, government and politics. Reach him at batkinson@ or on X (formerly known as Twitter) at @BAtkinson_PI. This article originally appeared on The Progress-Index: Virginia primary 2025: Campaign finance reports show money pouring in

Inside Donald Trump's Mass-Deportation Operation
Inside Donald Trump's Mass-Deportation Operation

Yahoo

time7 hours ago

  • Yahoo

Inside Donald Trump's Mass-Deportation Operation

Detainees board an ICE deportation flight on May 29 in Alexandria, La. Credit - Christopher Lee for TIME "Pay attention to the noise," says Belarmino Garcia, the warden of El Salvador's Terrorism Confinement Center. He ushers a group of foreign visitors inside CECOT's Module 8, a unit unlike others at the sprawling facility situated at the base of a volcano. This one holds 238 Venezuelan nationals who were shipped from the U.S. on March 15 to be held in one of the world's most infamous prisons at the behest of President Donald J. Trump. The cacophony is overwhelming. Inmates climb out of their bunks, lean on the bars, and plead and whistle for attention. Module 8 is different from a typical CECOT unit in several ways, Garcia explains. The detainees are allowed blankets and pillows. They eat fast food. They are rambunctious and defiant. As the warden leads the visitors out, the prisoners appear on the verge of mutiny, chanting 'Libertad! Libertad!' Next, Garcia takes the visitors into Module 7. It's silent inside. The prisoners are Salvadoran nationals, some of whom have been at CECOT for years. They wear white shirts, white shorts, and face masks, and sit upright, staring blankly through the bars. Their cells contain nothing but a pila—a tub they use as a toilet—and bare steel bunks. Inmates spend all day inside, emerging only for 30 minutes of calisthenics or Bible study, according to the warden. There are no TVs or radios. The prisoners can't make or accept phone calls. They can't receive visitors, or even letters. They have spoken to no one outside the prison since their arrival. Staff remind them what El Salvador's President, Nayib Bukele, has said publicly: No one who goes into CECOT will ever come out. 'They have lost the will to fight or resist us,' Garcia says. The prospect of the U.S. sending migrants to a foreign prison notorious for alleged human-rights violations would have been unimaginable less than a year ago. But it is only one dramatic component of Trump's unprecedented deportation project. The President has revoked the temporary legal status of hundreds of thousands of people and expanded the power of Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) to round up and remove millions of others. He is authorizing ICE to direct a network of law-enforcement agencies, from the FBI and the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives to the DEA and U.S. Park Police, to assist the effort. He has pressed the Internal Revenue Service and the Postal Service to share information to identify targets. Homeland Security Operations has developed new software technology, called RAVEn, to consolidate data about migrants. Trump has used federal powers to coerce cities and counties to cooperate with the mission and threatened to withdraw federal funding if they don't. Working with sheriffs and local police departments, ICE has raided schools, parks, and restaurants across the U.S., detaining some 82,000 people in a few short months. The work is only beginning. On June 7, Trump ordered National Guard troops to Los Angeles to quell anti-ICE protests. The Department of Justice is weighing arresting and prosecuting public officials who impede their immigration agenda, according to Administration sources familiar with the matter. The White House is considering suspending habeas corpus, a protection against illegal government detention enshrined in the Constitution that grants every person the right to have a judge review their imprisonment. 'We're looking at every option,' Trump border czar Tom Homan tells TIME. In addition to sending Venezuelans to CECOT, Trump has deported asylum seekers to Panama and sent others to Guantánamo Bay in Cuba and South Sudan. Homan says the Administration is in talks with three more countries to accept U.S. deportees. It also plans to build and expand other detention centers in the U.S., he says, with the goal of doubling capacity to hold detainees awaiting deportation to 100,000. So far, the Administration has deported more than 139,000 migrants, which is behind pace to reach Trump's aggressive targets. Even so, the number in immigration detention has spiked 30%. Read More: Exclusive: Inside Trump's First 100 Days. This sweeping effort has few analogues in recent world history. Its ambition goes beyond anything attempted in the U.S. since the Eisenhower-era Operation Wetback in its aims to expel millions of people and change the makeup of the country. Removing that many undocumented immigrants, as Trump has promised, would eliminate a key source of labor. It would end a decades-long wave of migration that has made the country progressively more multiethnic. And it would change how the U.S. has treated those seeking refuge from violence and oppression since before the end of the Cold War. Trump officials say all this is overdue. The U.S. experienced a surge in migrants, including undocumented immigrants, under President Biden, who revoked some of Trump's first-term border policies. Trump officials say they intend to reverse a trend that has displaced American workers, depleted state and local governments of resources, and, they argue, undermined social cohesion. Already, Trump's deportation program is instilling fear in newcomers. 'I can't go back,' says Hilda Espinoza Telon, a refugee from Guatemalan gang violence, whose lawyer says she was recently fitted with an ankle monitor by ICE. 'Nearly my whole family has been murdered over there.' She has given her 14-year-old son instructions for what to do if she disappears from their Virginia home. A TIME investigation, based on interviews with more than 20 Trump Administration officials, exclusive access to detention facilities in the U.S. and abroad, and conversations with numerous migrants, immigration experts, and attorneys reveals how Trump is testing the moral and legal extremes to which the government is willing to go. Catholic bishops and Republican-appointed judges have joined those speaking out against his deportation project. District courts have issued injunctions. Constitutional scholars have alleged Trump's team is not only abusing presidential power but also breaking laws. 'The Administration is treating immigration not as a law-enforcement matter but is trying illegally to repurpose the tools of war and counterterrorism against migrants,' says Brian Finucane, a lawyer at the independent International Crisis Group and former State Department official. 'It's a turducken of illegality.' Trump Administration officials say they are complying with all laws they deem constitutional. Whether they are correct will ultimately be decided by the Supreme Court, which has halted some of Trump's actions while the Justices consider the merits. But moves to slow or reverse his agenda have only hardened the President's resolve. 'We have to do it,' Trump told TIME in late April, arguing he had been elected on a promise to crack down on illegal immigration. 'People have been let into our country that are very dangerous.' As the Administration escalates its efforts, critics are asking how we got here. Others wonder what took so long. But all Americans have a stake in understanding how Trump is trying to transform the country by deporting millions of its inhabitants—and what it will mean for their communities. When Cristian David Marin Leiva stepped inside the South Louisiana ICE Processing Center in New Orleans on April 14, he thought his appointment would take only a few minutes. The agency had summoned Cristian, a boyish teenager with bright eyes and a patchy goatee, for a regular 'check-in.' He had reported for check-ins twice previously without incident—most recently in February—since he crossed the Texas border illegally in April 2021. Cristian moved to the U.S. to escape violence in Honduras, he says, settling with his father and stepmother in Slidell, La. 'Where I lived was full of gangs,' he says. 'They would make the minors join the gang or be killed.' Shortly after he crossed the border, he hired a lawyer, who asked a judge to designate Cristian a Special Immigrant–Juvenile. He had been abandoned by his mother in Honduras, his attorney says, and needed to live with his father in the U.S. The judge approved the petition and granted Cristian four years of 'deferred action from removal,' providing a reprieve from deportation at least until 2027. Now a high school junior, Cristian, 18, walked into the ICE office near the French Quarter around 7 a.m., planning to make it to school in time for his first-period biology class. He approached an officer and handed him the letter requesting a check-in. The agent glanced at the paper, furrowed his brow, and then looked back at Cristian. He pulled out a pair of handcuffs. 'Follow me,' he said. Cristian was led into a small holding cell with dozens of detainees and stripped of his possessions. 'They just called me over and put these on me and kept me here,' he told TIME, shackled at his wrists and ankles. Agents told him he could make a phone call after he was transferred to a processing center in Central Louisiana. There he could choose either to voluntarily board a flight to Honduras or face a judge. Nobody informed Cristian's family what was happening. Rubin Marin, Cristian's father, was oblivious when TIME reached him by phone later that afternoon. He thought his son was in school. Summoning migrants for unexpected detention is one in a range of tactics the Trump Administration has adopted. The message sent is clear: Migrants who entered the country illegally are not only unwelcome but also at risk of sudden removal or imprisonment wherever they are and whether they've followed the law since arriving or not. 'It's just getting them the hell out of here,' Homan says. Read More: Read the Full Transcript of Trump's '100 Days' Interview With TIME. To understand how the deportation dragnet works, TIME joined ICE officers on a pair of morning raids in the New Orleans area. Inside a truck, ICE officers reviewed files on their targets, including biometric data, arrest and conviction records, work histories, and frequent whereabouts. 'We surveil them for a period of time to identify patterns of behavior,' says Mellissa Harper, director of the New Orleans field office. 'Once we know that they are at a certain location at a certain period of time regularly, we plan out an enforcement operation.' The raids TIME witnessed didn't lead to arrests. In one case, the person had left the state overnight. In another, they simply weren't home. But the target list has multiplied. When he took office, Trump revoked the temporary protected status of hundreds of thousands of migrants and rescinded memos that limited ICE arrests during raids. Before that, 'if we conduct a targeted enforcement operation for one guy and we show up to his house and there are four other -illegals there, we could only arrest the one guy,' explains Scott Ladwig, Harper's deputy. 'Now we grab them all.' Local police have lined up in support, transferring migrants they arrest on other alleged crimes or even traffic violations. After the fruitless predawn raids on April 14, the ICE officers returned to the New Orleans field office to find 12 migrants transported from the Kenner, La., police department. The detainees walked in a single-file line, wearing handcuffs and leg restraints. When they reached the offices, ICE agents interviewed them using a Spanish translation app on their government phones. One of the detainees, Fernando Milla, 28, had been arrested on suspicion of drunk driving. The officer who ran his license, Milla says, saw he had overstayed a student visa. After two nights in the county jail, police transferred Milla, a Honduran national, to ICE custody. Sitting inside a holding cell, Milla was resigned to his fate. 'I'm not going to hire a lawyer or anything,' he tells TIME. 'I'm going back.' As the migrants in Milla's group were being questioned by the ICE agents processing their paperwork, Cristian emerged from the holding cell. He spent 16 minutes answering questions from an officer. Then he was left waiting again, hoping he ends up back with his father and not on a flight to Honduras. The detention of migrants like Cristian is the first link in Trump's new deportation chain. It's the product of years of planning. Trump left office in January 2021 determined to make immigration a centerpiece of his political comeback. Top aides found refuge at friendly think tanks to plot the next steps. Homan, who was acting ICE director in Trump's first term, took residency at the America First Policy Institute and the Heritage Foundation, where he contributed to the latter organization's manifesto for a second term, titled Project 2025. Russell Vought, the Office of Management and Budget director, founded the Center for Renewing America, where he studied Trump's rally speeches and devised plans to turn promises into policy. Longtime adviser Stephen Miller, an architect of Trump's first-term immigration crackdown that included separating families, founded America First Legal to sue the Biden Administration, and explored legal mechanisms for Trump's deportation goals. Together they sketched the contours of a new, even more aggressive immigration agenda. It would concentrate power in the Oval Office and use federal powers to pressure state and local jurisdictions, withholding funds for sanctuary cities and forcing agencies with access to sensitive data to assist in the deportation effort. Vought and others suggested pulling federal funding from state and local police departments that refused to cooperate. Miller proposed declaring a national emergency to invoke extraordinary powers to round up and remove migrants. Homan wanted to restructure ICE, reassigning employees with desk jobs to conduct field operations and ramping up the agency's capacity to identify and arrest people. They looked for ways to move fast, and studied the law to devise the methods and legal defenses for their most boundary-pushing measures, according to several current Administration officials. Working with Miller at America First Legal was Gene Hamilton, the principal author of Trump's controversial family-separation policy, according to a January 2021 Justice Department inspector general report. All four men now work out of the White House. 'The President and the entire Administration are certainly open to all legal and constitutional remedies to ensure we can continue with the promise of deporting illegal criminals,' White House press secretary Karoline Leavitt said. Just how 'legal and constitutional' the White House actions are is a matter of dispute. Normally, Executive Orders are vetted by experts at the Office of Legal Counsel at the Justice Department, in order to ensure the President is following the law. Trump has reportedly curtailed that front-end review, leaving government lawyers to defend controversial claims of powers granted to the President only in extreme circumstances, like wartime. Asked to illustrate how this approach to following the law differs from the norm, one litigator who left the Justice Department in February tells TIME, 'Draw a horse and put a cart in front of it.' Read More: Donald Trump, TIME's 2024 Person of the Year. Even those willing to advocate for the broadest presidential powers in pursuit of deportations have found themselves out of a job. Erez Reuveni, a veteran federal litigator who had defended in court Trump's 2017 ban on travelers from Muslim-majority countries, was fired after Reuveni told a court the Administration had mistakenly sent a Salvadoran man named Kilmar Abrego Garcia to CECOT because of a clerical error. The Department also placed on leave Reuveni's supervisor, August Flentje, who had defended Trump's family-separation policy in court in 2018. Traditionally, Justice Department lawyers have been required to keep their distance from the White House to avoid the appearance of politicization. Attorney General Pam Bondi, by contrast, has emphasized 'zealous' advocacy of Trump's agenda. 'Any attorney who fails to abide by this direction will face consequences,' Bondi said the day after Reuveni's court appearance. Eight hours after his arrest, Cristian was sent to the Central Louisiana ICE Processing Center in Jena, La., about four hours from New Orleans, on the edge of a forest of loblolly and longleaf pines. The facility, which holds nearly 1,200 inmates, is run by the private corrections company GEO Group, a Trump donor for which Homan worked as a paid consultant. Most days, the prison is quiet, though on occasion hundreds of protesters show up to demand the release of its most famous inmate, Mahmoud Khalil, a Columbia University graduate student whom the Trump Administration arrested without a warrant in March for his role in the campus' pro-Palestinian protests, and has accused, without supplying evidence, of 'activities aligned to Hamas.' When TIME visited the Jena facility on May 29, nine landscapers in lime green shirts sat in the intake room on long benches, waiting their turn to be formally admitted. Their shirts read Twin Shores Landscape & Construction Services. Two days earlier, they had been starting a project on the Mirabeau Water Garden construction site in New Orleans, part of a $30 million federally funded drainage project to reduce flooding in the area. At 7 a.m., ICE officers surrounded the site, blocking the exits to the park, as a government helicopter hovered overhead. Donald Tercero, 36, was among those arrested. Tercero, who is Nicaraguan, had worked on farms and as a teacher before arriving in the U.S. in 2022. He presented himself to the Border Patrol at McAllen, Texas, seeking humanitarian parole under a program the Biden Administration had started that year. He's not planning to fight his deportation. 'I want to go back,' Tercero says. Manuel Carillo, a 29-year-old from Guatemala, was also among the construction crew arrested in the New Orleans ICE raid. 'Not everyone wants to do the work we are doing,' he says. 'Unfortunately, Donald Trump doesn't want us to stay.' Jimmy Bingham, the warden at Jena, says fewer detained migrants are resisting deportation these days. 'They don't feel like it's worth their time to fight,' Bingham says. Upon admission, inmates are given colored uniforms—red and yellow garb for the most serious felonies, green and orange for lesser offenses, blue for those with no conviction. They are separated according to these classifications and housed in dorms that hold 80 people apiece, with showers, phones, televisions, and a gaming system. They get two hours for recreation in the morning and another two hours in the afternoon, says the prison administrator. When TIME enters one of the dorms, a group of inmates rushes over, asking to tell their stories. Some had been there a few days, others a few weeks, and some even a few months as they waited to have their cases heard. The lucky ones are granted bond and can return home until a judge is ready to determine their fate. Read More: Trump's 2024 Person of the Year Interview Transcript. Jena is one of around 200 ICE detention facilities across the U.S., but agency officials like to send prisoners there for a few reasons. It's cheaper to detain migrants in Louisiana than in other parts of the country, and the state has a conservative federal Circuit Court that's more likely than some others to rule in the government's favor when it seeks a removal. Jena is also located near the Alexandria Staging Facility, a small airport managed by GEO. On average, the Alexandria facility flies six planes a day to other countries, says Ragan Lewis, an ICE officer who runs the airport. Some days see as many as 12 outgoing flights. As a plane loaded up with prisoners, Lewis waved his hand toward a stretch of grass next to the airfield. If there were money to expand the holding cells, he says, he could fit 2,000 people there. Lewis hopes the broad legislative package moving through Congress will allocate funding to expand the Jena facility to house more migrants, who could then be flown out of the country on planes from Alexandria. Just after dawn on May 29, the swish of chains dragging on asphalt was loud enough to be heard over idling engines. Roughly 70 men shuffled across the tarmac toward a chartered jet that would take them to Nicaragua. Before boarding, guards patted each down, looking for hidden weapons, unlocking and relocking their restraints, and directing them to make the awkward ascent up the stairs to the plane. One of the men, wearing a black hoodie, shook the chains around his wrists at a guard and said, 'Como perros! Como perros!' (Like dogs.) Once the detainees were on board, agents brought in a van with dozens of women, also manacled, to board next. Then came the only migrants without chains: family units. A woman with her teenage son got on first, followed by a woman with her young daughter. By the time the flight lifted off, there were 118 passengers on board. Whether Cristian will end up on one of these planes isn't yet clear. In May he was let out of Jena on a $4,000 bond. He is due back in immigration court in New Orleans on Sept. 2 to find out whether he will be sent back to Honduras or can remain in the U.S. with his father. The deportation chain in Louisiana exemplifies a nationwide operation that is redefining American immigration policy, legally and morally. The fallout is reaching far beyond those who entered the country without permission. Law-enforcement officials have snatched foreign students off the street for engaging in speech the Administration doesn't like. Trump has revoked student visas and put foreign students into deportation proceedings without warning. 'A visa is a gift,' Secretary of State Marco Rubio told reporters on March 28. 'No one is entitled to a visa.' Trump is targeting younger children too. His attorneys have argued in federal court that he should be allowed to ignore the 14th Amendment's guarantee of citizenship for those born in the U.S. and terminate the rights of children born to parents who were in the country illegally. The President has cut federal funding to social-service nonprofits that offer legal representation to people facing deportation to ensure their cases are fairly decided. 'The very idea of deporting a child without a lawyer should be unthinkable in America,' says Jojo Annobil, the CEO of the Immigrant Justice Corps. Perhaps no other issue has crystallized criticism of Trump's immigration agenda like the deportation of Venezuelan nationals to El Salvador. Like many of Trump's policies, it came about through a series of conversations, rather than a conventional legal process. On the campaign stump, Trump occasionally castigated Bukele, the Salvadoran President, for sending MS-13 gang members to the U.S. Trump ally and former Florida Congressman Matt Gaetz, one of Bukele's biggest American fans, told Trump that this wasn't true. Bukele was the most popular leader in Latin America, he told Trump, and attacking him wasn't going to help win over the Hispanic voters Trump was courting. When Gaetz visited El Salvador for Bukele's second inauguration last summer, he and Bukele discussed the idea of the Salvadorans holding some of the migrants whom Trump planned to deport if he won. When Gaetz returned, he tells TIME, he brought the idea to Trump and his team. Shortly after taking office, Trump directed Rubio to cut a deal with Bukele, two senior White House officials say. Rubio came back with an offer in hand, according to U.S. officials: $20,000 per prisoner for a year. There were wrinkles in the deal. Bukele wanted the Trump Administration to send a handful of Salvadoran MS-13 members held in U.S. prisons, including some who the Treasury Department alleged in December 2021 had engaged in secret negotiations with officials of Bukele's government. At the same time, the deportations would require claims of extraordinary presidential powers. Miller and the White House Counsel's office planned to invoke the Alien Enemies Act, a 1798 law that grants the President wartime authority during an invasion or 'predatory incursion.' The plan was so closely held that only a few senior members of the Administration knew it was happening, one of them tells TIME. On March 15, the Trump Administration sent 238 Venezuelan nationals to El Salvador, alleging they were gang members or terrorists. Some had recently been arrested. Many of them had not been convicted in U.S. court. The Administration invoked the Alien Enemies Act for the fourth time in U.S. history, and the first since World War II. The declaration was made at 3:53 p.m. The flights for El Salvador were scheduled for 5:26, 5:44, and 7:36 p.m. Prompted by an emergency motion from the American Civil Liberties Union and Democracy Forward, U.S. Judge James Boasberg ordered a virtual hearing on the matter for late that afternoon. Boasberg heard arguments, then ordered the government to halt the removals. 'Whether turning around a plane or not embarking anyone on the plane, or those people covered by this on the plane, I leave to you,' Boasberg told the DOJ. 'But this is something that you need to make sure is complied with immediately.' Yet two planeloads of migrants had already left ahead of schedule. A third one was still on the tarmac at a Texas airfield, but took off anyway. The Trump Administration has not confirmed the names of the Venezuelans on those flights. Nor has it shown evidence that all of the men belonged to the criminal gang Tren de Aragua. A review by the Cato Institute found that more than 50 of the Venezuelans sent to El Salvador had followed legal steps to enter the country. A CBS News investigation found that most of the Venezuelans had no criminal record in the U.S. or abroad. One of the men on the planes was Abrego Garcia, who the Justice Department would later admit had been mistakenly deported. Another was Franco Caraballo Tiapa, who worked as a barber in Venezuela. In 2023, Tiapa and his wife Johanny trekked across the Darién Gap, sleeping in the open and surviving on scraps of discarded food, until they presented themselves at the U.S. border and asked for asylum. The two lived together in Sherman, Texas, where they made money cutting hair. On Feb. 3, Tiapa visited an ICE office in Dallas for a regular check-in. This time he was arrested, according to Johanny. The Administration says his tattoos show he's a member of the Tren de Aragua gang. One is of his daughter's name. Others depict a lion; a rose; and a razor blade on the side of his neck—a symbol of his work as a barber, according to his wife. She says he has no criminal record in the U.S. or Venezuela. 'They were only looking at his tattoos,' Johanny says. Outside of CECOT's Module 7, Garcia, the warden, brings out a Styrofoam container with a hamburger, French fries, ketchup packs, and Milano cookies. This is a typical meal for the Venezuelan inmates, he says. Their diet was devised by Bukele, who instructed they be fed fast food to gain weight, as a way of trolling critics who argue CECOT's conditions are inhumane, according to Salvadoran sources. 'It's a cat-and-mouse game,' says one person close to Bukele. The maneuver is similar to the photo op Bukele staged when Democratic Senator Chris Van Hollen traveled to El Salvador to meet with Abrego Garcia. The pair were photographed sitting poolside with what Van Hollen said were 'fake' margaritas. (Abrego Garcia was returned to the U.S. in early June.) After the tour of the prison, Garcia allows TIME to interview one inmate in a holding area near the unit's entrance. The man says his name is Hector Hernandez. He appears to be the nightmare that Trump has conjured time and again on the campaign trail. He says he is an MS-13 member, and has tattoos all over his body, from his face and neck to his forearms. The prisoner claims that before he was deported in 2019 and apprehended by Salvadoran authorities, he murdered 50 people in Northern Virginia—more than three times the number of reported murders in Prince William or Fairfax counties for that year. TIME was unable to verify the details provided by the prisoner, including his name, his alleged crimes, or how he came to be there. Inside CECOT, the extreme terminus for Trump's deportation program, the truth, like everything else, is under the control of the authorities. What is clear, however, are the draconian conditions to which the Salvadoran inmates at CECOT are subjected. They are under constant surveillance. The lights never go off. They share cells with rival gang members. Prisoners who get out of line face up to 14 days in pitch-black solitary confinement, says Garcia. For the past 2½ years, the man who identifies himself as Hector Hernandez says, he's had no communication with the outside world. He hasn't spoken to family. He hasn't seen or read a news report. He doesn't know who the President of the United States is. —With reporting by Harry Booth, Leslie Dickstein, and Tharin Pillay Contact us at letters@

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