Latest news with #AmericansWithDisabilitiesAct
Yahoo
23-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
A Striking Moment in American Activism
They chained the campus gates, occupied buildings, and burned effigies. They pounded on car hoods, waved hand-drawn signs, roared in rage. In the spring of 1988, students at Gallaudet University, a school for the Deaf in Washington, D.C., staged a week-long protest that drew international attention. That year, Gallaudet was on the cusp of finally appointing a Deaf president for the first time in its 104-year history, but the non-Deaf board of trustees balked, choosing a hearing person over two Deaf candidates. Though she later denied it, Jane Bassett Spilman, the board's chair, reportedly said, 'Deaf people are not ready to function in a hearing world.' Incensed, the students revolted, demanding representation. Beyond lively protests, they also organized their messaging and communicated passionately to the press. What was at first written off as mere youthful rebellion, destined to fizzle out, ultimately yielded the appointment of a Deaf president, and helped galvanize the greater movement that led to the passage of the Americans With Disabilities Act. The new Apple TV+ documentary Deaf President Now! chronicles the students' actions, which amounted to one of the most effective campus protests of the modern era. Co-directed by Davis Guggenheim (An Inconvenient Truth) and the Deaf activist, actor, and author Nyle DiMarco, the film unearths a particular period in American activism and a hinge point in Gallaudet's history, but it also doubles as an argument for thinking differently about Deafness, and disability, in general. (Guggenheim's production company, Concordia Studio, is funded by Laurene Powell Jobs and Emerson Collective, which also owns The Atlantic.) At a time when college campuses, corporations, and the U.S. government are diminishing—or even overturning—DEI initiatives, the movie's message feels especially resonant. Deaf President Now! is by no means scold-y or preachy, but it asks those who can hear to contemplate the many layers of life as a Deaf or disabled person. Layers, not Deaf, is the operative word in that sentence. The film compels viewers to reckon with what all people are owed, regardless of their bodily traits or circumstance. As its story illustrates, the disabled experience is far from cookie-cutter or one-dimensional. Deaf people want the same things that hearing people want: to be treated as full citizens, to be respected, to live their life with dignity, to have their needs understood by those in power. The week-long protest was so significant because, at its core, it demanded that hearing people see (and hear) Deaf people in an unmediated way. 'What's the microphone for?' It's a simple, profound query that one of the protest leaders poses during the present-day interviews that are interspliced with archival footage. The question is valid, given that the former Gallaudet student organizers, now nearing retirement age, address the camera by using American Sign Language. They're lively and expressive, signing with their whole body, retaining the fiery, opinionated vibe from their undergraduate days. Frequently in Hollywood, sign language is accompanied by captions, but the directors of Deaf President Now! opted to use voice-overs when the Deaf interviewees are on set. Some audience members might view this as a curious choice. A day after watching the film, I came to see it as a compelling inversion: ASL is its own language, and, for those who don't understand it—likely the overwhelming percentage of hearing people—the directors had introduced an accommodation. Watching the film, I was also struck by the sound design, which shrewdly oscillates between hearing and Deaf perspectives. There are, in the movie's opening minutes, the sonic minutiae of daily life: police sirens, a plane landing, a subway car pulling into a station, the pfffft when popping open a bottle. At other points, you see leaves rustling on campus but don't hear them scrape against the ground; when someone pulls a fire alarm, lights flash, but no sound is emitted. Crucially, though, the directors work to show that everyone inhabits the same world, just with different experiences. [Read: A disability film unlike any other] Deafness, like all disabilities, exists on a spectrum. Some people are born Deaf; others become Deaf later in life. Those who have diminished hearing may also consider themselves part of the Deaf community. Though this movie is not a history or topography of Deafness, it does examine the nuances of Deaf culture by showcasing the varied (and even contradictory) stories of how the student leaders came of age. Specifically, the film illustrates the battle between the medical and social models of disability. Under the former, Deafness would be considered an affliction to be 'cured' or 'fixed' with tools and interventions to enable a Deaf person to conform to the expectations of a hearing world. (One of the student activists, for example, recalls being pulled out of class as a kid to go to speech therapy, where he would place his hand on a teacher's nose to understand a hearing person's breath flow as they spoke certain words.) But under the social model, which has grown in prevalence in recent decades, disability is just another aspect of human existence, like someone's hair or eye color. This tension in perspective primacy permeates the film; in 1988, it undergirded the Gallaudet board's initial decision to select yet another hearing person as president. The person they chose, Elisabeth Zinser, did not know sign language. In the end, the protest arguably reached its apex not on the grounds of the school but on national television. One of the student leaders, Greg Hlibok, appeared on ABC's Nightline, opposite Zinser. Along with the Deaf actor Marlee Matlin, he made his case to the host, Ted Koppel, but also to the millions watching at home. Seeing Hlibok on-screen is especially affecting: He is young, inexperienced, and finding his way to his message in real time. He demands respect for himself and his classmates. He gets it. Zinser withdraws, and a Deaf member of the faculty, Irving King Jordan, is appointed. In some ways, it may be hard to believe that Gallaudet went so long—well more than a century—without a Deaf president, a leader who could intrinsically understand the needs and lives of the students. Although other schools for the Deaf exist, Gallaudet is unique: It draws Deaf people from all over the world and is seen as an oasis where disabled people aren't othered. I grew up several miles away from the campus, and I'm a hearing person, but I recall as a kid once having a Deaf counselor at basketball camp, someone who hooped at Gallaudet. He was smooth, fast, and confident on the court; I was young, and I remember wondering, sheepishly, how he could play the game at all if he couldn't hear the whistle. It was a question that didn't need asking; he managed just fine, and was better than other players his age. That admittedly basic concept—that Deaf people don't need hearing people worrying about or patronizing them—is one of the key themes of the film. DiMarco, the documentary's Deaf co-director, told me over Zoom that, in his first conversation with Guggenheim, he made clear that he didn't want this project 'to be framed as a story of pity.' (DiMarco signed his answers and we communicated through an interpreter.) Guggenheim didn't need convincing. He had taken a similar approach for his 2023 film Still, which follows Michael J. Fox's journey with Parkinson's disease. When making that movie, Fox told Guggenheim 'no violins'—meaning no smarm, no Hallmark-channel vibes. [Read: What Michael J. Fox figured out] Though the '88 protest happened before DiMarco was born, he knew its legacy as a child and went on to graduate from Gallaudet himself. In his adult years, he became somewhat of a familiar face after winning a season of America's Next Top Model and competing on Dancing With the Stars. Growing up, DiMarco told me, none of the Deaf characters he saw on-screen resonated with him. 'I often wondered why they couldn't get it right,' he said. 'I've really learned that the key to success in telling authentic stories is having Deaf people behind the camera.' He told me he has more than 25 extended family members who are Deaf and that no one in his family uses the term hearing impaired, which is often deemed ableist. 'I'd say probably the most prevalent misconception is that Deaf people don't carry any sense of pride,' he said. 'I think a lot of hearing people are very shocked when I say I love being Deaf,' he continued. 'I have culture, language, our community, our history. I think that's a very, very big misconception that I'm working every day to correct.' Beyond helping audiences understand some of the Deaf experience, DiMarco told me he hopes this film will resonate because of the civil disobedience at its center. Though he and Guggenheim started making the film six years ago, it's being released amid a wave of attacks against DEI initiatives. The present environment is not lost on him. 'I think today we've really forgotten how to protest,' he said. He acknowledged that he's not sure if, were the same demonstration to occur today, it would have the same outcome. But that possibility doesn't mean the fight for disabled dignity—the fight for dignity of all kinds—is any less salient. Article originally published at The Atlantic
Atlantic
23-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Atlantic
The Student Protest That Captured America's Attention
They chained the campus gates, occupied buildings, and burned effigies. They pounded on car hoods, waved hand-drawn signs, roared in rage. In the spring of 1988, students at Gallaudet University, a school for the Deaf in Washington, D.C., staged a week-long protest that drew international attention. That year, Gallaudet was on the cusp of finally appointing a Deaf president for the first time in its 104-year history, but the non-Deaf board of trustees balked, choosing a hearing person over two Deaf candidates. Though she later denied it, Jane Bassett Spilman, the board's chair, reportedly said, 'Deaf people are not ready to function in a hearing world.' Incensed, the students revolted, demanding representation. Beyond lively protests, they also organized their messaging and communicated passionately to the press. What was at first written off as mere youthful rebellion, destined to fizzle out, ultimately yielded the appointment of a Deaf president, and helped galvanize the greater movement that led to the passage of the Americans With Disabilities Act. The new Apple TV+ documentary Deaf President Now! chronicles the students' actions, which amounted to one of the most effective campus protests of the modern era. Co-directed by Davis Guggenheim (An Inconvenient Truth) and the Deaf activist, actor, and author Nyle DiMarco, the film unearths a particular period in American activism and a hinge point in Gallaudet's history, but it also doubles as an argument for thinking differently about Deafness, and disability, in general. (Guggenheim's production company, Concordia Studio, is funded by Laurene Powell Jobs and Emerson Collective, which also owns The Atlantic.) At a time when college campuses, corporations, and the U.S. government are diminishing —or even overturning—DEI initiatives, the movie's message feels especially resonant. Deaf President Now! is by no means scold-y or preachy, but it asks those who can hear to contemplate the many layers of life as a Deaf or disabled person. Layers, not Deaf, is the operative word in that sentence. The film compels viewers to reckon with what all people are owed, regardless of their bodily traits or circumstance. As its story illustrates, the disabled experience is far from cookie-cutter or one-dimensional. Deaf people want the same things that hearing people want: to be treated as full citizens, to be respected, to live their life with dignity, to have their needs understood by those in power. The week-long protest was so significant because, at its core, it demanded that hearing people see (and hear) Deaf people in an unmediated way. 'What's the microphone for?' It's a simple, profound query that one of the protest leaders poses during the present-day interviews that are interspliced with archival footage. The question is valid, given that the former Gallaudet student organizers, now nearing retirement age, address the camera by using American Sign Language. They're lively and expressive, signing with their whole body, retaining the fiery, opinionated vibe from their undergraduate days. Frequently in Hollywood, sign language is accompanied by captions, but the directors of Deaf President Now! opted to use voice-overs when the Deaf interviewees are on set. Some audience members might view this as a curious choice. A day after watching the film, I came to see it as a compelling inversion: ASL is its own language, and, for those who don't understand it—likely the overwhelming percentage of hearing people—the directors had introduced an accommodation. Watching the film, I was also struck by the sound design, which shrewdly oscillates between hearing and Deaf perspectives. There are, in the movie's opening minutes, the sonic minutiae of daily life: police sirens, a plane landing, a subway car pulling into a station, the pfffft when popping open a bottle. At other points, you see leaves rustling on campus but don't hear them scrape against the ground; when someone pulls a fire alarm, lights flash, but no sound is emitted. Crucially, though, the directors work to show that everyone inhabits the same world, just with different experiences. Deafness, like all disabilities, exists on a spectrum. Some people are born Deaf; others become Deaf later in life. Those who have diminished hearing may also consider themselves part of the Deaf community. Though this movie is not a history or topography of Deafness, it does examine the nuances of Deaf culture by showcasing the varied (and even contradictory) stories of how the student leaders came of age. Specifically, the film illustrates the battle between the medical and social models of disability. Under the former, Deafness would be considered an affliction to be 'cured' or 'fixed' with tools and interventions to enable a Deaf person to conform to the expectations of a hearing world. (One of the student activists, for example, recalls being pulled out of class as a kid to go to speech therapy, where he would place his hand on a teacher's nose to understand a hearing person's breath flow as they spoke certain words.) But under the social model, which has grown in prevalence in recent decades, disability is just another aspect of human existence, like someone's hair or eye color. This tension in perspective primacy permeates the film; in 1988, it undergirded the Gallaudet board's initial decision to select yet another hearing person as president. The person they chose, Elisabeth Zinser, did not know sign language. In the end, the protest arguably reached its apex not on the grounds of the school but on national television. One of the student leaders, Greg Hlibok, appeared on ABC's Nightline, opposite Zinser. Along with the Deaf actor Marlee Matlin, he made his case to the host, Ted Koppel, but also to the millions watching at home. Seeing Hlibok on-screen is especially affecting: He is young, inexperienced, and finding his way to his message in real time. He demands respect for himself and his classmates. He gets it. Zinser withdraws, and a Deaf member of the faculty, Irving King Jordan, is appointed. In some ways, it may be hard to believe that Gallaudet went so long—well more than a century—without a Deaf president, a leader who could intrinsically understand the needs and lives of the students. Although other schools for the Deaf exist, Gallaudet is unique: It draws Deaf people from all over the world and is seen as an oasis where disabled people aren't othered. I grew up several miles away from the campus, and I'm a hearing person, but I recall as a kid once having a Deaf counselor at basketball camp, someone who hooped at Gallaudet. He was smooth, fast, and confident on the court; I was young, and I remember wondering, sheepishly, how he could play the game at all if he couldn't hear the whistle. It was a question that didn't need asking; he managed just fine, and was better than other players his age. That admittedly basic concept—that Deaf people don't need hearing people worrying about or patronizing them—is one of the key themes of the film. DiMarco, the documentary's Deaf co-director, told me over Zoom that, in his first conversation with Guggenheim, he made clear that he didn't want this project 'to be framed as a story of pity.' (DiMarco signed his answers and we communicated through an interpreter.) Guggenheim didn't need convincing. He had taken a similar approach for his 2023 film Still, which follows Michael J. Fox's journey with Parkinson's disease. When making that movie, Fox told Guggenheim 'no violins'—meaning no smarm, no Hallmark-channel vibes. Though the '88 protest happened before DiMarco was born, he knew its legacy as a child and went on to graduate from Gallaudet himself. In his adult years, he became somewhat of a familiar face after winning a season of America's Next Top Model and competing on Dancing With the Stars. Growing up, DiMarco told me, none of the Deaf characters he saw on-screen resonated with him. 'I often wondered why they couldn't get it right,' he said. 'I've really learned that the key to success in telling authentic stories is having Deaf people behind the camera.' He told me he has more than 25 extended family members who are Deaf and that no one in his family uses the term hearing impaired, which is often deemed ableist. 'I'd say probably the most prevalent misconception is that Deaf people don't carry any sense of pride,' he said. 'I think a lot of hearing people are very shocked when I say I love being Deaf,' he continued. 'I have culture, language, our community, our history. I think that's a very, very big misconception that I'm working every day to correct.' Beyond helping audiences understand some of the Deaf experience, DiMarco told me he hopes this film will resonate because of the civil disobedience at its center. Though he and Guggenheim started making the film six years ago, it's being released amid a wave of attacks against DEI initiatives. The present environment is not lost on him. 'I think today we've really forgotten how to protest,' he said. He acknowledged that he's not sure if, were the same demonstration to occur today, it would have the same outcome. But that possibility doesn't mean the fight for disabled dignity—the fight for dignity of all kinds—is any less salient.
Yahoo
30-04-2025
- Yahoo
Palm Tran cutting bus service areas for disabled riders. Here's where
Some disabled Palm Beach County residents fear being left stranded by Palm Tran cutting its main paratransit service area, but the public bus operator is trying to reassure handicapped riders it would not end service for them. Starting in 2026, Palm Tran will restrict its buses for disabled people to three quarters of a mile from regular routes. Palm Beach County commissioners unanimously approved that plan during their April 8 meeting. Handicapped riders at the meeting said they feared that the new plan would make it impossible for some passengers to get rides. But Palm Tran officials said April 24 that the agency would contract with private companies to pick up disabled passengers, using specially equipped buses, outside the three-quarter-mile zone. Palm Tran's paratransit program, Palm Tran Connection, uses buses run by the agency to pick up disabled people from virtually anywhere in Palm Beach County east of State Road 7. The reduced service area starting Jan. 1, 2026, would leave out communities in eastern Jupiter and Juno Beach, along with Singer Island in Riviera Beach and many neighborhoods west of Military Trail and south of Forest Hill Boulevard. The Americans With Disabilities Act requires public transportation agencies across the United States to provide rides within three-quarters of a mile of transit routes. Palm Tran says it will work with companies such as Uber, Lyft and UZURV to help people outside Palm Tran Connection's smaller service area. The new service, dubbed Connection Plus, will have wheelchair-accessible buses run by those companies, Palm Tran spokeswoman Janessa Croce said Thursday, April 24. Scheduling trips with the new service will be "similar" to the current one, Croce said. Passengers book trips online at or through the Palm Tran Connection smartphone app. Anyone who wants to sign up for Palm Tran's paratransit service must start by calling the service's eligibility department at 561-649-9838, pressing option 7 and asking to speak with an "Eligibility Representative." Palm Tran Connection users book trips on the website, through the app or by calling the service. During the April 8 County Commission meeting, Palm Tran Connection riders voiced their fears of losing service after the bus agency officials told county commissioners that their new plan would save the agency money. Palm Tran's new plan "states we are going to cover the three-quarters of a mile and those of us who truly need the service will get the service, but I feel like this plan should be placed on hold for the moment and we should have some community meetings to figure out an alternative," said Nicole Fincham-Sheehan, disability advocate with Palm Tran, who is blind. "I also feel that the municipalities should step up and contribute to the cost of paratransit," she said. Palm Tran officials discussed paratransit changes during their Feb. 27 meeting of its service board, whose members approved it. Palm Tran spends $55 million annually on paratransit, agency director of administrative services Lyne Johnson told county commissioners. Each Palm Tran Connection trip costs $52, she said. Palm Tran's budget is more than $300 million. The agency did not provide an estimate on how much money it would save with Connection Plus. Palm Tran's Connection Plus program won't be the first time the public bus operator has contracted out rides to private companies. Palm Tran cut three regular bus routes in September and launched its BusLink service, paying for Uber and taxi rides to and from parts of Palm Beach Gardens, Riviera Beach, Boca Raton and Royal Palm Beach in September. It is paying Uber up to $424,000, with an estimated savings of $2.4 million. Last September: Palm Tran cut 3 bus routes, replaced them with Uber and taxis. Paratransit passengers who have disabilities, but can walk and can ride regular Palm Tran buses, will be given rides to and from the nearest bus stop if they are outside the three-quarter-mile zone, Palm Tran Executive Director Ivan Maldonado said. Palm Tran Connection's one-way fare will rise to $4, a 50-cent increase, starting in 2026. The paratransit service has charged $3.50 since 2013. That fare would remain the same for riders reporting incomes below the federal poverty line, Maldonado said. More than 18,000 people rode Palm Tran Connection in 2024, Maldonado said, with 1,649 outside the three-quarter-mile zone. "The customers understand now that this is partly on them to try to compromise because we have been giving them so much throughout the years and that's why we've invited them to the meetings, we've invited them to the table to talk," Palm Tran Senior Paratransit Manager Lou Ferri said. Chris Persaud covers transportation in Palm Beach County for The Palm Beach Post. This article originally appeared on Palm Beach Post: Palm Tran cuts bus routes for disabled riders in Palm Beach County
Epoch Times
29-04-2025
- Health
- Epoch Times
Supreme Court May Rule for Epileptic Student Alleging School Denied Special Accommodations
The Supreme Court on April 28 seemed sympathetic to an epileptic student's family that is suing a Minnesota school district, alleging that the school illegally denied special accommodation. The oral argument in A.J.T. v. Osseo Area Schools became heated when the attorney for the district accused the other lawyers at the hearing of 'lying' about the position she was arguing, an accusation she subsequently withdrew. The U.S. solicitor general's office argued in favor of the family's position. The student, known as A.J.T. and by her first name, Ava, is suing through her parents, who are identified in court papers as A.T. and G.T. Ava suffers from Lennox-Gastaut Syndrome, a rare kind of epilepsy, according to the family's Ava has intellectual limitations and experiences seizures during the day. The most severe seizures happen in the morning, but after that 'she's alert and able to learn until about 6 p.m.' She also needs assistance with walking and toileting. The family argued in the petition that the school district applied a stricter test to the circumstances than was required, which would make it more difficult for the family to succeed with a claim. Related Stories 1/20/2025 5/30/2024 The family filed suit under several federal statutes, including the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act (IDEA), which guarantees that all children receive a 'free appropriate public education.' The Americans With Disabilities Act (ADA) and the Rehabilitation Act also provide protections for disabled individuals. Before Ava's family moved to Minnesota in 2015, her public school district in Kentucky met her needs, including home instruction late in the day. Her new school district in Minnesota, Osseo Area Schools, 'refused to accommodate her,' denying evening instruction and giving 'a series of shifting explanations,' the petition alleged. In the beginning, the district said it did not want to set a bad precedent and then later stated that educating at home 'would be too restrictive,' while at the same time saying it needed more 'data' to rationalize a 'programming change,' the petition said. In the first three years of living in Minnesota, Ava received two fewer hours of daily instruction than nondisabled students received. Ava's parents launched an IDEA complaint with the Minnesota Department of Education. An administrative law judge held that the district violated the IDEA. The judge ruled that instead of prioritizing the child's educational needs, the district was more concerned with maintaining 'the regular hours of the school's faculty.' The judge directed the district to provide evening instruction. The school district appealed to the federal district court. Around the same time, Ava's parents sued the district under the ADA and Rehabilitation Act, asking for an injunction to 'permanently secure [Ava]'s rights to a full school day,' along with compensatory damages for the mistreatment she experienced, according to the petition. The federal district court affirmed the ruling in favor of Ava under the IDEA, finding that she needed 'more than 4.25 hours of schooling a day.' The court found that 'extending her instructions day until 6 p.m. and including compensatory hours of instruction' was 'the appropriate remedy' under the IDEA. However, the court ruled against Ava with regard to the ADA and Rehabilitation Act claims, reasoning that she had failed to demonstrate that the district acted either with 'bad faith or gross misjudgment,' the petition said. A panel of the U.S. Court of Appeals for the Eighth Circuit affirmed. After acknowledging that the family had produced evidence demonstrating that the Minnesota district had been 'negligent or even deliberately indifferent' in denying the reasonable accommodations the Kentucky district provided for years, the panel held it was 'constrained' by the circuit court's 1982 ruling in Monahan v. Nebraska that created the bad-faith-or-gross-misjudgment standard. In the Third and Ninth Circuits, the evidence Ava presented would have been strong enough to survive a motion to dismiss, but in the Eighth Circuit and four other circuits 'embracing Monahan's uniquely stringent standard,' it wasn't, the petition said. In June 2024, the full Eighth Circuit denied a request for rehearing. During the oral 'The defendant must have acted with discriminatory intent. Monahan correctly described that intent as bad faith, which is the longstanding term for actions done for an improper reason, here, disability,' the lawyer said. In the ADA, Congress 'spelled out reasonable accommodations' and 'barred damages without intent for employers and altogether for hotels and hot dog stands.' Reversing Monahan 'would expose 46,000 public schools to liability when, for 40 years, they have trained teachers, allocated budgets, and obtained insurance all in reliance on Monahan,' Blatt said. Some of the justices seemed taken aback by Blatt's suggestion that the Supreme Court should apply a tough standard in the case, an argument they said they had not anticipated. After Blatt said her side defines bad faith as 'discriminatory intent,' Justice Amy Coney Barrett said that 'would be a sea change' in disability discrimination lawsuits. Blatt replied it would only be 'a sea change in terms of liability.' Barrett said, 'a sea change in terms of liability is a pretty big sea change,' adding that Justice Ketanji Brown Jackson pointed out during the oral argument that 'no circuit has adopted your rule.' Justice Sonia Sotomayor raised the possibility that the district may have violated the Supreme Court's procedural rules by not adequately explaining the nature of its argument during the court's required briefing process in the lead-up to the oral argument. 'It would have been nice to have known that we were biting off that big a chunk,' the justice told Blatt. Blatt said her side's arguments had not changed. 'What is a lie and inaccurate is that we ever said in any context that this court should take the same language and define it differently depending on context. That is not true. There is no statement. They [are] adding words to our mouth,' she said. Justice Neil Gorsuch asked Blatt to confirm that she believed the family's attorney, Roman Martinez, and the attorney from the U.S. solicitor general's office 'are lying.' Blatt replied, 'at oral argument, yes, absolutely.' Gorsuch told the lawyer, 'I think you should be more careful with your words, Ms. Blatt.' Blatt replied that the two other attorneys 'should be more careful in … mischaracterizing a position by an experienced advocate of the Supreme Court, with all due respect.' A few minutes later, Blatt withdrew her accusation. Martinez said Blatt acknowledged that the district is 'trying to get rid of the reasonable accommodation claims that people in this country have enjoyed for decades.' 'This is a revolutionary and radical argument that has not been made in this court and that she's trying to get you to decide on the basis of essentially no briefing.' Martinez said disability rights groups 'would have rung a five-alarm fire' if they had realized what the district was seeking. The Supreme Court is expected to rule on the case by the end of June.
Int'l Business Times
29-04-2025
- Politics
- Int'l Business Times
Justice Department's Civil Rights Division Sees Mass Exodus Amid Sweeping Policy Overhaul
A dramatic shake-up is underway in the Justice Department's Civil Rights Division, where an estimated 70% of employees are expected to take advantage of a "deferred resignation" program, allowing them to leave their positions while still receiving pay through September. The division, which employed around 340 people, saw a Monday deadline for employees to accept the offer, CNN reported. Over the weekend, Assistant Attorney General Harmeet Dhillon confirmed that more than 100 attorneys had already opted in. Speaking on Glenn Beck's podcast, Dhillon criticized the outgoing staff, saying, "Now, over 100 attorneys decided that they'd rather not do what their job requires them to do, and I think that's fine." She also described the department's new mission as one aimed at combating "woke ideology." "We don't want people in the federal government who feel like it's their pet project to go persecute" police departments, she said. "The job here is to enforce the federal civil rights laws, not woke ideology." Sources close to the matter said the final tally could exceed 200 staff members -- a mass exodus that would slash the workforce to nearly a third of its original size. "No one has been fired by me since I came ... But what we have made very clear last week in memos to each of the 11 sections in the Civil Rights Division is that our priorities under President Trump are going to be somewhat different than they were under President Biden," Dhillon had previously stated in an interview. The resignations have surged since the reopening of the administration's deferred resignation program. The program allows civil rights staffers to formally resign but remain on payroll for several more months. As the Monday deadline has now passed, the department faces a significant reduction in personnel, including lawyers and non-lawyer support staff, the New York Times reported. Shift in priorities sparks concern At the heart of the exodus is a fundamental reorientation of the Civil Rights Division's goals. Under Dhillon and Attorney General Pam Bondi, the division is being redirected to prioritize efforts such as dismantling diversity, equity, and inclusion initiatives, challenging transgender protections, and increasing investigations into antisemitism and anti-Christian bias. "The prior administration's arguments in transgender inmate cases were based on junk science," Dhillon said. "The prior administration's nonsensical reading of the Americans With Disabilities Act was an affront to the very people the statute intended to protect." Longstanding work dismantled, officials say Traditionally, the Civil Rights Division has focused on protecting marginalized communities, enforcing voting rights, and addressing systemic discrimination. However, insiders say that new mission statements have rendered much of that historic work unrecognizable. Civil rights lawyers have been reassigned to probe antisemitism on college campuses, particularly in connection with protests against Israel's actions in Gaza. According to sources, the investigations are aimed at medical schools that receive substantial federal grants -- seen by the Trump administration as leverage to enforce new conduct standards. Another group of attorneys is now working on cases described as "protecting women's sports," a phrase used by officials to justify investigations that restrict transgender student-athletes from participating in teams aligned with their gender identity. Matthew B. Ross, a Northeastern University professor and frequent expert witness in consent decree cases, described the departures as a "mass exodus" with far-reaching consequences. "We're going multiple steps backwards in terms of modernizing law enforcement in this country, and it's quite unfortunate," Ross said.
