Last week, the Trump campaign falsely asserted that "homicides are skyrocketing in American cities under Kamala Harris." On Tuesday, the campaign offered a more nuanced and sophisticated critique of crime data cited by the Democratic presidential nominee. But it still does not support the earlier claim, which is inconsistent with numbers from several sources.

A "memorandum" headlined "Joe Biden's Lies on Crime" (a title that makes you wonder whether Trump forgot who his opponent is) notes that the FBI changed its crime data collection methods in 2021, switching from the old Uniform Crime Reporting (UCR) program to the new National Incident-Based Reporting System (NIBRS). The transition, which was aimed at generating "new and better data," resulted in a big decline in the number of participating law enforcement agencies. According to the Bureau of Justice Statistics, the share of the population covered by participating agencies fell from the previous norm of about 95 percent to just 65 percent in 2021.

"The FBI's website reveals that the Q1 2024 data Joe Biden is citing comes from just 71% of the nation's law enforcement agencies," the Trump campaign says. "That means crime data from nearly one third of jurisdictions is missing." The overall NIBRS participation rate, which is relevant in assessing the FBI's final estimates for any given year, is higher: The FBI says 15,724 of 18,884 eligible agencies, or 83 percent, submitted data for 2022. The overall population coverage rate had risen to 85 percent by 2023. Still, the decline in participation since 2020 is a widely recognized problem.

The Trump campaign notes that "the FBI attempts to 'estimate' crime data for non-reporting agencies using a 'statistical weight' from reporting agencies similar in size and type"—a "practice of estimating crime numbers for agencies with missing data" that "has been going on since the 1960s." But historically, the missing data represented around 5 percent of the population, compared to 15 percent in 2023. A bigger gap magnifies the potential for error.

That is a perfectly reasonable point. But does it mean that homicides are, in fact, "skyrocketing"? No.

Nationwide, the FBI's preliminary numbers indicate, murders fell by 26 percent in the first quarter of this year compared to the same period last year. But other sources also report that homicides are falling this year, albeit by smaller percentages.

Based on a sample of 277 cities, AH Datalytics reports a 17.3 percent drop in murders so far this year, which is very large compared to historical trends. Most of these numbers come from "official" sources, meaning they were reported by local police departments or municipal governments. Some were compiled by state governments, and some came from local news outlets that track crime.

The Council on Criminal Justice (CCJ), based on data from 39 cities for the first half of 2024, reports that "most violent crimes," including homicide, "are at or below levels seen in 2019," the year before a huge spike in murders (which, as Trump wants us to forget, happened during his administration). The CCJ says the drop in homicides through June in "the 29 study cities providing data for that crime" was 13 percent.

According to a report from the Major Cities Chiefs Association (MCCA) that covers 69 cities during the same period, the total number of homicides fell by 17.4 percent. That is strikingly similar to the AH Datalytics estimate, although the latter analysis covers a lot more cities—including New York, which was not part of the MCCA sample but saw a 10 percent drop in homicides, according to AH Datalytics.

Instead of trying to defend its recent claim that "homicides are skyrocketing," the Trump campaign widens the focus, arguing that the National Crime Victimization Survey (NCVS), which includes crimes that are not reported to police, provides a more accurate picture of what is happening. The NCVS is not relevant in assessing homicide trends, since it does not cover homicides—the most serious violent crime and the one that is hardest to miss. And although the Trump campaign's criticism of the FBI numbers focuses on what happened in the first quarter of 2024, we do not yet have NCVS data for 2023, let alone this year.

The NCVS, like the FBI's system, has both strengths and weaknesses. But the Trump campaign deems it "by far the most credible and reliable barometer of crime nationwide." The NCVS, it says, "reveals that between 2020 and 2022 (the most recent year for which data is available), there was a 43% increase in violent crime, 58% increase in rape, 89% increase in aggravated assault, and a 56% increase in robbery."

Although these numbers omit 2023 and 2024, the Trump campaign wants us to believe they tell the true story of crime during the Biden administration. But the divergence between the NCVS and FBI numbers, especially in 2022, presents a puzzle that cannot be resolved simply by observing that the NCVS includes unreported crimes.

In 2002, when the FBI reported an overall 2 percent decline in violent crime, the NCVS results indicated a whopping 75 percent increase. Again, the latter number does not include homicide, which according to the FBI fell by 7 percent in 2022. But it does include respondents' reports of rape, which were up 58 percent, compared to the 6 percent drop estimated by the FBI; robbery, which rose by 47 percent according to the NCVS but only 1 percent according to the FBI; and aggravated assault, which more than doubled according to the survey but fell by 2 percent in the FBI's tally.

"Both too much and too little can be made of the divergence between the UCR and NCVS violent crime rates in 2022," the CCJ notes. "Divergent change in a single year should be viewed in the context of the similar long-term trends in the two indicators—and both sources show an appreciable decline in violent crime since the early 1990s." Still, "changes in the UCR and NCVS violent crime rates have rarely differed as much as they did" in 2022.

The 2021 changes in the FBI's reporting system and the concomitant decline in participation do not seem relevant here, since the participation rate was substantially higher in 2022 than it was in 2021. But if crime victims are increasingly disinclined to contact the police, that could help explain the striking 2022 divergence between the NCVS results and the FBI numbers.

According to the NCVS, the CCJ notes, "approximately 52% of serious violent crimes were reported to the police in 2021 and 48% in 2022, a relative decrease of nearly 8%. The decline in reporting crimes to the police was particularly large for aggravated assault, falling from 61% in 2021 to 50% in 2022, a decrease of 18%." But these changes in reporting behavior do not come close to fully accounting for the enormous differences between the NCVS and UCR numbers for 2022.

Beyond the difference between reported and unreported crimes, the NCVS and the FBI's system use different methods and measure somewhat different things. "As a household-based survey," the CCJ notes, "the NCVS does not include people who are homeless or those who live in institutions such as prisons, jails, and nursing homes. It also excludes crimes of violence against persons under 12 years of age. If persons included in the survey have experienced changes in violence that differ from the changes experienced by those excluded from the survey, that could help account for some of the divergence in violence rates."

The Bureau of Justice Statistics notes other possibly relevant differences between the two sources. For example, "the NCVS includes, but the [FBI system] excludes, attempted robberies, simple assault, [and] verbal threats of crime." The FBI system "includes, but the NCVS excludes, homicide, arson, commercial crimes, and human trafficking." The two sources also use different definitions of some crimes.

Another possible factor: While the FBI's 2022 numbers covered the calendar year, the 2022 NCVS asked about crimes experienced from July 1, 2021, through November 30, 2022. "Since the NCVS shows an increase in violent crime," The Marshall Project's Weihua Li and Jamiles Lartey suggest, "it's potentially because violent crime rates were higher in the latter part of 2021." They also note that "the victimization survey is historically much more volatile from one year to the next," suggesting "it may be influenced by statistical noise."

The Trump campaign describes the FBI's quarterly numbers as "garbage" and "fake statistics." But notwithstanding the preliminary nature of those numbers and the challenges associated with the transition to the new reporting system, they are broadly consistent, in direction if not magnitude, with what other sources indicate.

"Right now," Li and Lartey reported in June, "every source points to a decrease in violent crime." They quoted University of Miami criminologist Alex Piquero, an adviser to the CCJ Crime Trends Working Group, who said "the FBI's Q1 2024 data is incomplete, not inaccurate," adding: "There's no fudging of the numbers, and the drop is real. The question, of course, is how big that drop will be, and then how big that drop will be across crime types. That's the thing that we just don't fully grasp yet."

The post Trump's New, More Sophisticated Take on Crime Still Does Not Show 'Homicides Are Skyrocketing' appeared first on Reason.com.

Here’s yet more anecdotal evidence demonstrating why we’re be better off routing mental health calls to mental health professionals, rather than to people who tend to respond to things they can’t immediately control with violence. The good news is more cities are experimenting with multiple options for 911 response. The better news is that those experiments have been successful.

The bad news is everything else. Most cities aren’t willing to do this. And because they’re unwilling to explore their options, more people suffering mental health crises are going to end up dead. That’s what happened to Roy Scott, a Las Vegas resident who was “helped” to death by Las Vegas police officers Kyle Smith and Theodore Huntsman.

Here’s another story that’s all too familiar here in the United States, as recounted at the opening of the Ninth Circuit Appeals Court decision [PDF]:

Early in the morning on March 3, 2019, Roy Scott called the police for help. But he did not get it. Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department Officers Kyle Smith and Theodore Huntsman came to the scene. Scott was unarmed and in mental distress. Though he complied with the officers’ orders and was not suspected of a crime, Smith and Huntsman initiated physical contact, forced Scott to the ground, and used bodyweight force to restrain him. Shortly after, Scott lost consciousness and he was later pronounced dead.

The one-two punch of “called for help”/”but he did not get it” makes it clear the officers’ response to the situation was objectively terrible, at least in the Appeal Court’s eyes. The phrase “initiated physical contact” gives a hint of what’s to follow in the narrative: an unwarranted deployment of force against an unarmed person who was already experiencing distress long before these officers decided to end his life.

The district court nailed it on the first pass, denying qualified immunity to both officers. The officers appealed, but are greeted with more of the same at the next judiciary level.

The first two paragraphs recounting the violent incident in greater detail contain some pretty chilling facts. First, the evidence shows both officers clearly understood they were dealing with someone in mental distress, rather than some sort of dangerous criminal.

Scott was distressed and hallucinating when Officers Smith and Huntsman arrived at his apartment. After Smith and Huntsman knocked and identified themselves, Scott yelled to the officers to “break the door down” claiming that there were people inside his house. The officers did not break the door in because they did not hear anyone inside the apartment. Instead, they continued to knock and order Scott to come to the door. About two minutes after first knocking on the door, Smith told Huntsman, “this is a 421A for sure,” using the department code to indicate he believed Scott was mentally ill. Huntsman then called through the door: “Sir, have you been diagnosed with any mental diseases?” After Scott did not come to the door, Smith asked dispatch to call Scott back to ask him to come to the door, noting again that Scott appeared to be mentally ill. Smith then said to Huntsman: “I ain’t going in there. That’s too sketchy.” Huntsman agreed, “That dude’s wacky.” Peering into Scott’s window, Huntsman asked Smith if he could see the “crazed look in [Scott’s] eye.” They could not see anyone else in Scott’s apartment.

While it’s obviously possible for someone to both be in mental distress and pose a safety threat to others, the first fact that matters is that both officers affirmed (in their own body cam recordings) that they believed they were dealing with a mental health issues, rather than actual criminal activity.

The next paragraph contains a pretty damning fact — one that is a leading indicator that police violence, misconduct, or rights violations will be the most likely outcome of any encounter.

When Scott did not open the door, Smith called their sergeant, turning off his body worn camera. On Huntsman’s camera, Smith can be heard telling their sergeant that Scott sounds mentally ill. After ending the call, Smith told Huntsman that their sergeant said that “at the end of the day we can’t do anything if we don’t hear any reason to have an exigent circumstance.” Smith also explained that their Sergeant suggested they try again to get Scott to come to the door.

Never a good sign. Fortunately for Scott’s survivors, the other officer continued recording and captured the rest of Roy Scott’s killing. Scott finally answered the door carrying a metal pipe — one that he immediately dropped when the officers asked him to. They asked if he had any other weapons. Scott handed them a knife he had in pocket — handle-first — and said “I am sorry.” The officers pushed him up against a wall, shining a flashlight in his face. Scott asked to be put in the cop car, telling officers he had schizophrenia and that the light was bothering him. This request was ignored. The officers told Scott, “We are out here to help you.”

They didn’t.

At first, the officers held Scott’s arms at his sides while he was lying on his back. In this position, Scott screamed, struggled, and pled with the officers to leave him alone for over two minutes. The officers then eventually rolled Scott onto his stomach, repeatedly ordering Scott to “stop.” With Scott on his stomach and with his hands restrained behind his back, Huntsman put his bodyweight on Scott’s back and neck for about one to two minutes. At the same time Smith put his weight on Scott’s legs, restraining his lower body. Scott’s pleas turned increasingly incoherent and breathless as Huntsman applied his bodyweight. After handcuffing him, the officers attempted to roll Scott on his side, as he continued to incoherently cry out that he wanted to be left alone. When they rolled Scott over, his face was bloody from contact with the ground. Scott stopped yelling and thrashing around after a few minutes. Scott did not respond when Smith and Huntsman tried to wake or revive him. Shortly after, when the paramedics arrived, Scott was still unresponsive. Scott was pronounced dead after paramedics removed him from the scene. Plaintiffs’ expert found that Scott had died from restraint asphyxia.

From there, the fact-finding is simple, especially since it was recorded. While the officers presented their one-sided argument for qualified immunity, the appeals court shuts this attempt down. First of all, the facts are on the side of the non-moving party’s assertions at this point. Second, the body cam footage takes care of most of the questions of fact and what’s left to be decided should be done in front of a jury.

The officers’ attempt to portray Scott as a threat falls flattest, in terms of appellate arguments. The officers claimed Scott was a threat because he was carrying two weapons — a metal pipe and a knife. The court reminds the officers that one had been dropped and the other voluntarily handed to officers well before the officers decided to take Scott to the ground and restrain him to death.

The law was clearly established when the officers ended Scott’s life. And the precedent is almost directly on point.

The similarities between this case and Drummond are striking. Scott was not suspected of a crime. Instead, he was taken into custody because of his mental health. Though they were presented with an individual experiencing a mental health crisis and presenting no obvious danger to others, Smith and Huntsman crushed Scott’s back and neck to subdue him while handcuffing him. Scott also cried out with increasing distress and incoherence as the officers’ force escalated. Reasonable officers would have known that their force was not reasonable and that it created a serious risk of asphyxiating Scott.

When the law is clearly established and any facts that might help the officers push their version of the events still in dispute (not including those caught on camera, which are indisputable), qualified immunity is not an option. This will return to the lower court to be argued in front of a jury, assuming the city of Los Angeles doesn’t decide to settle first. No matter how this ends up being resolved, the city and the PD would be wise to look into alternative response options for mental health calls. It’s pretty clear police officers can’t — or won’t — handle these calls responsibly.

The recent attempted assassination of Republican presidential hopeful Donald Trump, which resulted in the death of one rally attendee and injuries to the candidate and two others, was not an isolated event. The high profile incident occurred against a backdrop of lower-level attacks and violent protests across the country that indicate too many Americans are increasingly willing to exchange battles over ideas for fists, bullets, and firebombs. It's a sign of an existential political climate in which nobody thinks they can afford to lose—or that opponents can be allowed to win.

Not-So-Isolated Incidents

"A Michigan man used an all-terrain vehicle to run over and critically injure an 80-year-old man who was putting a Trump sign in his yard, in what police have described as a politically motivated attack," the BBC reported July 23. The apparent attacker killed himself after calling police to confess to the crime.

Just days later, anti-Israel protesters vandalized property and battled police in Washington, D.C. in what has become almost a matter of routine.

The partisan Michigan attacker, the mysteriously motivated would-be assassin, and the subset of protesters who cross the line don't really represent mass endorsements of violence. They're often lone actors or extremists within their own movements. But no majority vote is required before people and property are attacked. It just takes somebody willing to get physical, and too many meet that bar.

Politics Plagued by a Violent Minority

Last month, the University of Chicago's Robert A. Pape, a professor of political science who studies political violence, released the results of a study on Americans' attitudes towards using violent means to achieve political ends. What he found is that 10 percent of respondents agree "the use of force is justified to prevent Donald Trump from becoming president." Opposing them are 6.9 percent of respondents who agree "the use of force is justified to restore Donald Trump to the presidency."

When questions about justifying violence are given broader scope, researchers find larger numbers open to its use. Last year a study from the Violence Prevention Research Program at the University of California, Davis found "one-third of respondents…considered violence to be usually or always justified to advance at least 1 of 17 specific political objectives," including preventing discrimination based on race or ethnicity and preserving an American way of life based on Western European traditions.

The good news is that even the larger numbers still represent a minority of the population, outnumbered by those who prefer to keep bullets and bombs out of their political discourse. The bad news is it only takes one person to target a candidate or run over a homeowner putting a sign on his lawn. And it only takes one, or a handful, to stage any of the myriad lower-profile incidents that suggest we're in a cycle of political strife.

Rising Tide of Threats and Attacks

In March, a California man pled guilty to firebombing a Costa Mesa Planned Parenthood clinic—the third suspect to do so in that crime. They had planned other attacks that were thwarted by their arrests.

In January, the Center of the American Experiment, the Upper Midwest Law Center, and TakeCharge—three Minnesota conservative groups—were targeted by arsonists in what was believed to be an act of political terrorism. The organizations are offering a $100,000 reward "for information leading to the arrest and conviction of the individual or individuals who started the arson fires."

A car belonging to a Portland, Oregon, city commissioner's family was torched outside his home just weeks before that. In response, Multnomah County District Attorney Mike Schmidt warned "acts of political violence and acts of political vandalism are unacceptable and will not be tolerated."

Gonzalez is far from alone in being violently targeted by people who disagree with him.

"The number of threats to public officials is growing," according to a May data review from the Combating Terrorism Center at West Point. "While 2013-2016 had an average of 38 federal charges per year, that number sharply increased to an average of 62 charges per year between 2017-2022."

The review added that ideological motivations could be confirmed for roughly half the cases, and that "the number of federal prosecutions is on pace to hit new record highs" this year.

High Stakes Politics and Rising Illiberalism

Much of this is the result of the rising tensions of recent years. Political factions have gone from opposing each other to despising each other and considering opponents too vile and dangerous to be allowed to win office and exercise power. That political leaders tear not just into each other, but into whole segments of the population they perceive as alien understandably reinforces fears of the criminal justice system and the regulatory state in the hands of enemies.

Added to that is the abandonment of liberal ideas about restrained government and tolerance by both the left and the right. In their place are thuggish ideologies that leave little room for dissent.

"On the left, a new crop of socialists hope to overthrow the liberal economic order, while the rise of intersectional identity politics has supplanted longstanding commitments to civil liberties," Reason's Stephanie Slade wrote in 2022. "On the right, support for free markets and free trade are more and more often derided as relics of a bygone century, while quasi-theocratic ideas are gathering support."

That creates an environment in which violence might become just another tactic for people who consider their causes of overriding importance. In January, The New York Times interviewed Andreas Malm, a celebrity activist who advocates for political violence on behalf of climate causes. He clarifies that he supports targeting property, not people, but "can't guarantee that it won't come with accidents."

He also thinks his opponents shouldn't be allowed to use the same tactics in return, saying "the idea that if you object to your enemy's use of a method, you therefore also have to reject your own use of this method would lead to absurd conclusions."

Malm, it should be noted, is Swedish. And that points to the fact that America isn't alone in seeing activists adopt violence as a preferred means of achieving results.

"American political violence has much in common with that taking place in Germany and India, as well as in France's most recent election," Rachel Kleinfeld recently noted in Foreign Affairs.

Shared misery is cold comfort, but it may be the only kind available right now.

The post The Wave of Political Violence Has No End in Sight appeared first on Reason.com.

This week, a federal judge ruled that a major provision of New Jersey's "assault weapon" ban is unconstitutional, but he was not happy about saying so. The decision illustrates how the Supreme Court's Second Amendment precedents have constrained the discretion of judges who are personally inclined to support gun control.

New Jersey's Assault Firearms Law—which the state Legislature approved in 1990, responding to a mass shooting at a Stockton, California, elementary school the previous year—bans a list of specific rifle models, along with "any firearm manufactured under any designation which is substantially identical to any of the firearms listed above." According to guidelines that New Jersey Attorney General Peter Verniero issued in 1996, the latter description encompasses semi-automatic rifles that accept detachable magazines and have at least two of five features: a folding or telescoping stock, a pistol grip, a bayonet mount, a flash suppressor or threaded barrel designed to accommodate one, or a grenade launcher. Illegal possession of "assault firearms" is a second-degree crime punishable by five to 10 years in prison and a maximum fine of $150,000.

In separate lawsuits that U.S. District Judge Peter Sheridan considered together, several gun owners and two gun rights groups, the Firearms Policy Coalition (FPC) and the Association of New Jersey Rifle and Pistol Clubs (ANJRPC), argued that the rifle ban is unconstitutional. Sheridan's decision in ANJRPC v. Platkin focuses on the Colt AR-15, one of the specifically banned rifles, because it was the model mentioned most frequently by the plaintiffs and the state.

"The information presented to the Court focuses largely on one specific type of firearm: the AR-15," Sheridan writes. "And given the variety of firearms regulated in the Assault Firearms Law and the nuances that each individual firearm presents, the Court's analysis of the Assault Firearms Law is limited to the firearm with which the Court has been provided the most information: the AR-15."

Sheridan, a senior judge who was appointed to the U.S. District Court for the District of New Jersey by George W. Bush in 2005, repeatedly refers specifically to "the Colt AR-15." But he also notes that "the AR-15 is produced by several different manufacturers," including FN, Ruger, Remington, Bushmaster, Rock River Arms, Wilson Combat, Barrett, Panther Arms, H&K, Lewis Machine, Olympic Arms, Palmetto State Armory, and Mossberg. So his conclusion that "the AR-15 Provision is unconstitutional" evidently applies to all AR-15-style rifles, regardless of who makes them or what they are officially called.

Before explaining his reasoning in reaching that conclusion, Sheridan expresses his dismay at the Supreme Court precedents he is required to follow. "It is hard to accept the Supreme Court's pronouncements that certain firearms policy choices are 'off the table' when frequently, radical individuals possess and use these same firearms for evil purposes," he says. "Even so, the Court's decision today is dictated by one of the most elementary legal principles within our legal system: stare decisis. That is, where the Supreme Court has set forth the law of our Nation, as a lower court, I am bound to follow it. This principle—combined with the reckless inaction of our governmental leaders to address the mass shooting tragedy afflicting our Nation—necessitates the Court's decision."

Despite his personal policy preferences, Sheridan thinks it is clear that the AR-15 qualifies as a weapon "in common use" for "lawful purposes like self-defense"—the sort of arms that the Supreme Court has said are covered by the Second Amendment. He notes a 2022 estimate that Americans owned about 24 million "AR-15s and similar sporting rifles," and he highlights testimony that such guns are useful for home defense.

"Plaintiffs have shown that AR-15s are well-adapted for self-defense," Sheridan writes. "Evidence has been presented to the Court that the build of the AR-15 makes it well-suited to self-defense because it is 'light weight, [has] very mild recoil, and [has] good ergonomics'; it is a weapon which is 'well suited to younger shooters, female shooters, and other shooters of smaller stature.'" He adds that "the AR-15's design features—including the effectiveness of its cartridge for self-defense use and its better continuity of fire when used with available magazines—make the AR-15 a good choice for self-defense." And he notes that "the AR-15 has been used recently in several, relatively high-profile self-defense events in Florida, Illinois, Texas, Pennsylvania, and Oklahoma."

Those points should be disregarded, the state argued, because handguns are a more popular choice for self-defense and one that New Jersey allows. But as Sheridan notes, the Supreme Court's decision in the landmark 2008 case District of Columbia v. Heller, which overturned a local handgun ban, explicitly rejected that sort of argument. "It is no answer to say…that it is permissible to ban the possession of handguns so long as the possession of other firearms (i.e., long guns) is allowed," Justice Antonin Scalia wrote in the majority opinion. "It is enough to note, as we have observed, that the American people have considered the handgun to be the quintessential self-defense weapon."

Like the law at issue in Heller, "the Assault Firearms Law's AR-15 Provision acts effectively as the total prohibition on a commonly used firearm for self-defense—AR-15s—within the home," Sheridan writes. And under Heller, "a categorical ban on a class of weapons commonly used for self-defense is unlawful." Given "the Supreme Court's clear direction on this point," Sheridan says, "the AR-15 Provision of the Assault Firearms Law is unconstitutional" as applied to "the Colt AR-15 for use for self-defense in the home."

Sheridan reached a different conclusion regarding another provision of New Jersey's Assault Firearms Law that the plaintiffs also challenged: the ban on "large capacity magazines" (LCMs). Legislators originally defined LCMs as magazines that hold more than 15 rounds but reduced the limit to 10 rounds in 2018. That restriction, Sheridan says, is "consistent with this Nation's historical tradition of firearm regulation"—the test established by the Supreme Court's 2022 ruling in New York State Rifle & Pistol Association v. Bruen.

Sheridan acknowledges that the U.S. Court of Appeals for the 3rd Circuit, which includes New Jersey, has recognized ammunition as "arms" within the meaning of the Second Amendment. But he thinks the LCM ban differs from the AR-15 ban in a crucial way.

"The LCM Amendment passes constitutional muster because although the Second Amendment right is implicated, this regulation is in line with the historical regulations within the tradition of our Nation," Sheridan writes. "Put more precisely, the reduction of capacity is a limitation on firearms ownership. It is not a categorical ban preventing law-abiding citizens from exercising their Second Amendment rights [with] a weapon that is in common use for self-defense."

Sheridan notes that "detachable magazines did not exist in the Founding period" and that "it was not until the mid-l800s that patents for magazines falling within the definition of the LCM Amendment began appearing in the historical record." While "rifles capable of holding more than ten rounds became available" in the 1860s, he adds, "the magazine was fixed." And "despite the issuance of a patent for detachable magazines in 1864, firearms with detachable magazines were not widely available until the end of the Nineteenth Century."

Magazines that could hold more than 10 rounds, Sheridan notes, "did not exist in 1791," when the Second Amendment was ratified, and "were not widely available in 1868," when the 14th Amendment required states to respect the right to arms. He says it therefore would be plainly unreasonable to demand that New Jersey "locate a statute or regulation from that time" that closely resembles its LCM ban.

In Bruen, Sheridan writes, the Supreme Court "noted that current regulations may implicate either 'unprecedented societal concerns' or 'dramatic technological changes' different from those that existed when the Second Amendment was ratified in 1791 or when the Fourteenth Amendment was ratified in 1868. In those circumstances, 'a more nuanced approach' to determine if historical regulations are 'relevantly similar' to the currently challenged regulations must be utilized based on two measurements: 'how and why the regulations burden a law-abiding citizen's right to armed self-defense.'"

Sheridan thinks the LCM ban's "how" is "relevantly similar" to the scope of historical restrictions on pistols and Bowie knives. "The LCM Amendment places a burden on self-defense that is comparable to the burden imposed by the historical analogues," he says. "Like these restrictions, the LCM Amendment is…a restriction responding to safety concerns present in our time."

As for the LCM ban's "why," Sheridan says, there is evidence that LCMs "increase the lethality of mass shooting events." In recent years, he notes, magazines holding over 10 rounds often have been used in mass shootings, including "all" such crimes from 2019 through 2022.

The "stated purpose" of New Jersey's LCM ban, which is to "effectively slow down a mass shooter," is "well-served" by that restriction, Sheridan writes. "A limitation on magazine capacity stops the rate at which victims can be injured," he says, and "allows for time during which a shooter may be intercepted, interrupted, or hopefully, stopped." While "such a problem" may be "new to us," he adds, it is "analogous to other safety issues presented by [weapons] commonly used…for lawful purposes confronted by our Nation in the past."

Sheridan, who decries the "alarming frequency" of mass shootings, never acknowledges that they remain rare compared to other kinds of lethal crime. Based on the commonly used definition of mass shootings as public attacks that kill four or more people, they account for around 1 percent of homicides committed with guns. And while Sheridan implies that mass shootings are on the rise, the RAND Corporation notes that "chance variability in the annual number of mass shooting incidents makes it challenging to discern a clear trend" and that "trend estimates are sensitive to outliers and to the time frame chosen for analysis."

Sheridan nevertheless decries the "reckless inaction of our governmental leaders to address the mass shooting tragedy afflicting our Nation," which both exaggerates the frequency of these crimes and takes for granted that they could be prevented if only politicians tried hard enough. In addition to a lack of political will, Sheridan implicitly blames the Supreme Court for saying that the Second Amendment puts some gun restrictions "off the table." Yet despite these views, he felt constrained to reject New Jersey's AR-15 ban.

At the same time, Sheridan was curiously reticent to extend his analysis by considering the illogic of banning "substantially identical" rifles and defining that category based on an arbitrary set of features. With or without those features, a rifle fires the same ammunition at the same rate with the same muzzle velocity. Does it make any sense, for example, to expect that banning rifles with both folding stocks and threaded barrels would have any noticeable impact on mass shooting deaths, let alone homicide generally?

While Sheridan's concern about the use of LCMs in mass shootings is more plausible, it is based on an inconclusive correlation. The public safety benefit of banning them is speculative, and Sheridan did not even consider the argument that the ability to fire more than 10 rounds without changing magazines can be important in some self-defense situations—a point that legislators take for granted when they exempt current and former police officers from magazine restrictions.

The FPC plans an appeal to the 3rd Circuit, which it wants to "address legal deficiencies in [Sheridan's] opinion," and "seek the full relief" that the plaintiffs requested. "Bans on so-called 'assault weapons' are immoral and unconstitutional," says FPC President Brandon Combs. "FPC will continue to fight forward until all of these bans are eliminated throughout the United States."

The post A Federal Judge Reluctantly Concludes That New Jersey's AR-15 Ban Is Unconstitutional appeared first on Reason.com.

A federal law that Congress enacted in 1994 prohibits gun possession by people subject to domestic violence restraining orders. Since that seems like a no-brainer, many people were dismayed when the U.S. Court of Appeals for the 5th Circuit deemed that provision unconstitutional last year in United States v. Rahimi. But as anyone who reads the majority and concurring opinions in that case can see, there is a striking problem with 18 USC 922(g)(8): It disarms people even when there is little or no evidence that they pose a danger to others.

In an 8–1 decision today, the Supreme Court avoided that issue by noting that the man who challenged his prosecution under Section 922(g)(8), Zackey Rahimi, is a bad dude with an extensive history of violence, including violence against his girlfriend. As applied to people like Rahimi, Chief Justice John Roberts says in the majority opinion, the law is "consistent with this Nation's historical tradition of firearm regulation"—the constitutional test that the Court established in the 2022 case New York State Rifle & Pistol Association v. Bruen.

"When a restraining order contains a finding that an individual poses a credible threat to the physical safety of an intimate partner, that individual may—consistent with the Second Amendment—be banned from possessing firearms while the order is in effect," Roberts says. The decision does not address the question of whether it is consistent with the Second Amendment to disarm someone without such a judicial finding.

Noting that Rahimi raised a facial challenge, Roberts faults the 5th Circuit for focusing on "hypothetical scenarios where Section 922(g)(8) might raise constitutional  concerns" instead of "consider[ing] the circumstances in which Section 922(g)(8) was most likely to be constitutional." That error, he says, "left the panel slaying a straw man."

As 5th Circuit Judge James Ho emphasized in his Rahimi concurrence, that "straw man" is not merely hypothetical. The "constitutional concerns" to which Roberts alludes derive from the statute's loose requirements for court orders that trigger the gun ban. Under Section 922(g)(8), a restraining order must include at least one of two elements, one of which sweeps broadly enough to encompass individuals with no history of violence or threats.

The first, optional element—a judicial finding that the respondent "represents a credible threat to the physical safety" of his "intimate partner" or that person's child—provides some assurance that the order addresses a real danger, especially since the law requires a hearing in which the respondent has "an opportunity to participate." As Roberts notes, the order against Rahimi included such a finding. But the second, alternative criterion—that the order "by its terms explicitly prohibits the use, attempted use, or threatened use of physical force against such intimate partner or child that would reasonably be expected to cause bodily injury"—can be met by the boilerplate language of orders that are routinely granted in divorce cases, whether or not there is good reason to believe the respondent is apt to assault anyone.

In his Rahimi concurrence, Ho noted that protective orders are "often misused as a tactical device in divorce proceedings" and "are granted to virtually all who apply." They are "a tempting target for abuse," he said, and in some cases have been used to disarm the victims of domestic violence, leaving them "in greater danger than before."

In the lone dissent from today's decision, Justice Clarence Thomas likewise notes how easily someone can lose his right to arms under Section 922(g)(8). The provision "does not require a finding that a person has ever committed a crime of domestic violence," he writes. It "is not triggered by a criminal conviction or a person's criminal history." And it "does not distinguish contested orders from joint orders—for example, when parties voluntarily enter a no-contact agreement or when both parties seek a restraining order."

Furthermore, Thomas says, the law "strips an individual of his ability to possess firearms and ammunition without any due process," since "the ban is an automatic, uncontestable consequence of certain orders." The Cato Institute made the same basic point about due process in a brief supporting Rahimi's challenge.

Although a hearing is required for the restraining order itself, Thomas notes, "there is no hearing or opportunity to be heard on the statute's applicability, and a court need not decide whether a person should be disarmed under §922(g)(8)." He also points out that the penalties for violating the provision are severe: up to 15 years in prison, plus permanent loss of gun rights based on the felony conviction.

Roberts, who criticizes the 5th Circuit for requiring a "historical twin" rather than a "historical analogue" under the Bruen test, sees precedent for Section 922(g)(8) in "surety" laws that required threatening people to post bonds, which they would forfeit if they became violent. But Thomas does not think those laws are "relevantly similar" to the provision that Rahimi violated.

"Surety laws were, in a nutshell, a fine on certain behavior," Thomas writes. "If a person threatened someone in his community, he was given the choice to either keep the peace or forfeit a sum of money. Surety laws thus shared the same justification as §922(g)(8), but they imposed a far less onerous burden."

In particular, Thomas says, "a surety demand did not alter an individual's right to keep and bear arms. After providing sureties, a person kept possession of all his firearms; could purchase additional firearms; and could carry firearms in public and private. Even if he breached the peace, the only penalty was that he and his sureties had to pay a sum of money. To disarm him, the Government would have to take some other action, such as imprisoning him for a crime." Thomas thinks the government "has not shown that §922(g)(8)'s more severe approach is consistent with our historical tradition of firearm regulation."

Roberts, by contrast, says a prosecution under Section 922(g)(8) can be consistent with that tradition, at least when a judge concludes that someone "poses a credible threat to the physical safety of an intimate partner." The constitutionality of applying Section 922(g)(8) in cases where there was no such finding remains uncertain. Some Second Amendment scholars, such as the Independence Institute's David Kopel, argue that the provision would be constitutional if it were amended to require a finding of dangerousness.

The Court did clarify an important point in a way that could bode well for other challenges to the broad categories of "prohibited persons" who are not allowed to possess firearms, such as cannabis consumers and other illegal drug users. The majority rejected the Biden administration's position that only "responsible" people qualify for Second Amendment rights.

"We reject the Government's contention that Rahimi may be disarmed simply because he is not 'responsible,'" Roberts writes. "'Responsible' is a vague term. It is unclear what such a rule would entail. Nor does such a line derive from our case law."

In Bruen and in District of Columbia v. Heller, the 2008 case in which the Court first explicitly recognized that the Second Amendment guarantees an individual right to armed self-defense, Roberts notes, "we used the term 'responsible' to describe the class of ordinary citizens who undoubtedly enjoy the Second Amendment right….But those decisions did not define the term and said nothing about the status of citizens who were not 'responsible.' The question was simply not presented."

The post SCOTUS Dodges a Crucial Problem With Disarming People Based on Restraining Orders appeared first on Reason.com.

A group of Burlington, Vermont, high school students were touring a local police department as part of a forensics class this week. In the middle of a presentation from a detective, the unthinkable happened: a masked gunman burst into the room and seemed to open fire.

The students were terrified. One says she dove on the ground, hurting her knee. Another says she reached for her phone to text her mother.

But soon, the students realized that they weren't actually being shot at. Instead, they were the victims of a bizarre "demonstration" from the local police.

According to Seven Days, a Vermont independent newspaper, the students had no idea that the presentation would involve a mock shooting. Students were watching a detective speak at the front of a room when they heard screams. Two women ran in, followed by a man wearing a ski mask, who—it seemed—began firing.

"I'm shaking and crying because I'm like, 'Oh my god, I'm gonna get shot,'" one student told Seven Days. "It felt so real."

The students eventually realized that the shooting was fake after police officers in the room failed to do anything to stop the apparent gunman.

While performing a fake mass shooting with high schoolers was obviously a terrible idea, it's unclear whether high school staff also share some blame for needlessly terrifying the students. 

The teachers told Seven Days that, while they knew officers would possibly demonstrate a "gunshot-related crime," they had no idea they wouldn't be warned first. However, in an email obtained by Seven Days, "teachers said officers told them that they'd previously used the lesson with college students and adults, and that they wanted the event to be 'as realistic as possible.'"

In a statement, police claimed that school staff had agreed to the content of the demonstration and that it would include "fake firearms in a mock shooting." 

"Do you think that sort of incident would be ok for your group of students?" police asked school employees on May 23. "It is about as real life as you can get, and is certainly exactly the sort of thing we deal with most frequently."

"I think these students will be fine with this simulation," school employees replied, according to a statement from police. "We will give a heads up to parents and students."

No matter how you slice it, there's not much educational utility to having a fake gunman commit a "mock shooting" in a room full of unaware high school students. However, it's far from the first time that police have gone overboard with educational demonstrations like this. In 2019, police in Indiana shot elementary school teachers with airsoft guns during an active shooter training drill. Those teachers filed a lawsuit.

The post Vermont Cops Terrorize High School Students With 'Mock Shooting' appeared first on Reason.com.

One way to understand the Bad Boys franchise is as a referendum on shifting cultural views of masculinity. 

The first two films, released in 1995 and 2003 respectively, followed the brash antics of two hard-charging Miami cops, Marcus Burnett (Martin Lawrence) and Mike Lowrey (Will Smith). Mike and Marcus are a classic cinematic odd couple: Marcus is sloppy, goofy, messy, harried, and married; Marcus is handsome, uptight, hard-charging, and very, very single. But they shared a certain bro-code—vulgar, violent, competitive, sex-obsessed, and constantly engaged in insult comedy, much of which had homophobic undertones. They were also brothers in arms, unshakably loyal to each other. Today flagrantly crude behavior would be cast as toxic masculinity. But that label didn't exist back in 1995. Back then, it was just masculinity. 

The early movies, both directed by Michael Bay, the noisy commercial auteur who would go on to make Armageddon, Pearl Harbor, and the first five Transformers films, understood that their behavior was extreme, aggressive, and obnoxious. They were, after all, bad boys. But they didn't care if anyone was offended. 

Will Smith and Martin Lawrence were playing larger-than-life action heroes and their obnoxiousness was meant to be endearing. The audience was intended to enjoy their naughty behavior, to derive pleasure from the offense of it all. They were just guys being guys. Bros being bros. The subtext of all the swearing, leering, swaggering, and shooting was, more or less, "dudes rock." 

But when the franchise picked up again with Bad Boys For Life in early 2020, just weeks before the pandemic shut down most movie theaters, that confident assertion seemed more like a question. 

Marcus and Mike were still swaggering, swearing, shoot-first alphas. But their back-and-forth insult volleys, while not exactly PG-rated, were a little less graphic, and they moved a little bit slower. They were older now, their facade of invulnerability punctured, and their youthful recklessness was finally catching up to them. Mike, it turned out, had a long-lost son who was connected to the drug cartel they were trying to take down. Marcus became a grandfather and announced his intention to retire from police work. There were costs, deadly costs, to their conduct. This is what it meant to be a bad boy, for life. 

The newest installment, Bad Boys: Ride or Die, takes this notion even further but with diminishing returns. In the opening minutes, Mike, the longtime womanizer, gets married. Marcus has a heart attack at the ceremony. And when the bad guys show up and the gunfire and explosions begin, Mike's long-lost son is, naturally, involved. There's still swearing and shooting galore. There's still an anti-authoritarian streak that puts the two cops at odds with their superiors. And Mike and Marcus are still the tightest and loyalist of bros. But 2024's bad boys are not quite as bad as they once were. 

Which is a shame, because they're not quite as fun either.

Bad Boys: Ride or Die is a fan-service-laden retread of its predecessor: Once again, there are cameos and reminders of the franchise's decades-long history. Once again, there are mid-life milestones meant to reflect on growing older, realizations and revelations about the meaning of life, and goofy jokes about the indignities of aging, most of which revolve around Marcus' obsession with junk food after his doctor orders him to improve his diet. 

It's not quite a beat-for-beat remake of the previous film but it feels like an uninspired remix, with nearly every major element repeating something from Bad Boys for Life. Given that film's success—thanks to pandemic shutdowns it ended up as the top-grossing movie of 2020—that's understandable. There are scattered laughs to be had in the comic riffing; even in their dotage, Will Smith and Marcus Lawrence are still a potent on-screen odd couple. And directors Adil El Arbi and Bilall Fallah concoct some energetic (if silly) action set pieces, including a POV-heavy shootout at an abandoned gator-haunted theme park in South Florida.

But for the most part, Bad Boys Ride or Die feels creatively safe and cautious in a way that's at odds with the franchise's earlier throw-it-against-the-wall recklessness. It's studiously inoffensive, not awful but perfunctory, and vaguely ashamed of all that came before. They're still guys being guys, bros being bros—but, seemingly by design, these dudes don't rock quite like they used to. As the song goes: Whatcha gonna do? 

The post With <i>Ride or Die</i>, the Bad Boys Movies Become Referendums on Masculinity appeared first on Reason.com.

This didn’t go the way anyone (other than cops and their unions) wanted it to, but first let’s acknowledge the fact that the city of Denver is actually trying to make things better for both cops and the people they serve.

Here’s how that’s going:

In its first three months, STAR handled 350 calls — only a very small percentage of 911 calls. But the immediate developments appeared positive. A supposed indecent exposure call handled by STAR turned out to be a homeless woman changing clothes in an alley. A trespassing call turned out to be another homeless person setting up a tent near some homes. Suicidal persons were helped and taken to care centers. Homeless residents were taken to shelters. No one was arrested. No one was beaten, tased, or shot.

The zero arrests streak continues. STAR has released its six-month report [PDF] and the calls it has handled have yet to result in an arrest, strongly suggesting police officers aren’t the best personnel to handle crises like these — unless the desired result is more people in holding cells.

Denver decided to try what (far too few) other cities are trying: routing mental health/social services calls to professionals in those fields, rather than hand them off to police officers. And for good reason! Police officers aren’t trained to handle these sorts of issues. That lack of training tends to result in arrests, violence, and even the killing of people police have been asked to help.

Denver’s STAR (Support Team Assistance Response) has been able to handle many calls normally routed to cops without deploying cop tactics: you know, the command-and-control aggression that often manages to make these situations worse, if not actually deadly for those requiring mental health assistance.

So, there’s that. A limited test has shown consistently good results, which should be all the argument Denver legislators need to provide funding to expand STAR assistance to a round-the-clock effort.

But that’s just Denver. Even though it’s the state’s most populous city, its success story has been overlooked by state legislators who apparently feel the best thing for cops is the same lack of accountability they’ve enjoyed for years.

Legislators had a chance to impose greater accountability, but decided to go the other way, as Marissa Ventrelli reports for the Denver Gazette.

A bill that would have required law enforcement agencies to investigate all allegations of officer misconduct died in the House last week following significant revisions.

Sponsors said the measure would increase protections for officers who report alleged misconduct by their peers. Critics, notably law enforcement agencies and organizations, argued the sponsors did not include them in discussions for such an important measure.

Under House Bill 1460 as introduced, the failure to investigate reports of misconduct would have constituted workplace discrimination, for which civil action may be initiated.

The bill’s origin story is one of cop-on-cop harassment. Former Edgewater police officer McKinzie Rees helped craft the bill after being sexually assaulted twice by a fellow officer. Reporting it to supervisors did nothing but force Rees to resign, along with being placed on the state’s Brady list, ensuring she’d never be used as a witness in court, no matter what law enforcement agency employed her.

But it had obvious benefits for regular people, too. It strengthened whistleblower protections for cops reporting on other cops, but also would have benefited citizens who’ve filed complaints by forcing law enforcement agencies to instigate investigations, rather than just ignore the complaints of the policed.

The main opposition was none other than the state’s largest police union. Police unions routinely oppose efforts that might result in more scrutiny of officers. In this case, though, the union opposed any additional scrutiny being applied to cops who attacked, harassed, or sexually assaulted other cops.

The Fraternal Order of Police requested sponsors withdraw the bill and to instead convene a working group during the interim to discuss a multitude of issues related to whistleblowing, such as officer obligation to report misconduct, due process for officers facing allegations by whistleblowers, and protections for the whistleblowers themselves.

“We hope that you will accept this offer to engage in research and dialogue over the summer and fall so that all interested parties can feel assured that any future legislation on these topics in the upcoming session is founded in fact, necessity, and effective collaboration,” the group said. 

This makes it clear police unions are there to protect the worst cops — the ones willing to cross the “thin blue line” to harm other police officers. While everyone expects cops to treat citizens like punching bags and doormats, the “thin blue line” illusion is supposed to trick everyone into believing cops stand together united against evil. But if it’s internal evil, the police union wants nothing to do with any efforts to root it out. That’s just fucking disgusting.

And that’s how a bill dies, with the approval of people who think cops shouldn’t be scrutinized — much less punished — for any misconduct they commit, even if the targets of their wrongdoing are their fellow officers. These are the words of a legislator who seems more willing to provide gratis car washes for officers’ personal cars than serve any member of his constituency that can’t be bothered to get a badge-wearing job.

Rep. Ryan Armagost, R-Berthoud, a former law enforcement officer and member of the committee that heard the bill, said he was “offended” that law enforcement agencies had not been involved in discussions about the bill to the extent they wanted to be. 

Here’s an idea, Rep. Armagost: fuck ’em. If these agencies want to be involved, they’re sure to be involved. All this statement means is this rep is offended someone didn’t ask the kind of cops he likes (which would be the kind that sexually assault fellow officers) what kind of legislation they wanted and instead tried to right some wrongs by offering the state’s sexual assault victims (well… at least those in uniform) some form of protection, redress, and deterrence.

And it was state reps like Armagost who got what they wanted by stripping the bill of anything meaningful and parking it on blocks out in the front yard. For those of you who still think there’s nothing partisan about full-throated support of the worst cops this nation employs, please re-read the second quoted paragraph until the truth sinks in.

By the time the bill reached the floor for its third and final reading, all of its major provisions had been amended out, save for the creation of a working group. 

Ultimately, the bill died, 31-33. All of the Republicans, except Soper, voted in opposition, though it’s possible he would’ve asked for a recount and switched his vote if the bill had passed.

To add insult to the injuries suffered by former officer McKinzie Rees, the union added this statement after the bill was carved up by bootlickers and left to die on the House floor:

“We appreciate that the majority of House members shared our concerns about the need for a robust stakeholder process before passing legislation of this importance. Ensuring law enforcement employees have due process protection and a safe and healthy work environment are serious, complex issues that warrant responsible and thoughtful solutions.”

It pretty much makes you want to vomit. The union cheered on “due process” and “a safe and healthy work environment.” But it really doesn’t care much about the first (the bill only required an investigation to be opened, which means plenty of due process was still available to officers) and obviously gives zero shits about the latter, since it means officers attacked/assaulted by other officers will continue to be frozen out by the worst in their ranks and expected to leave the force, rather than see their grievances adequately addressed by the government agencies that hired them.

This didn’t go the way anyone (other than cops and their unions) wanted it to, but first let’s acknowledge the fact that the city of Denver is actually trying to make things better for both cops and the people they serve.

Here’s how that’s going:

In its first three months, STAR handled 350 calls — only a very small percentage of 911 calls. But the immediate developments appeared positive. A supposed indecent exposure call handled by STAR turned out to be a homeless woman changing clothes in an alley. A trespassing call turned out to be another homeless person setting up a tent near some homes. Suicidal persons were helped and taken to care centers. Homeless residents were taken to shelters. No one was arrested. No one was beaten, tased, or shot.

The zero arrests streak continues. STAR has released its six-month report [PDF] and the calls it has handled have yet to result in an arrest, strongly suggesting police officers aren’t the best personnel to handle crises like these — unless the desired result is more people in holding cells.

Denver decided to try what (far too few) other cities are trying: routing mental health/social services calls to professionals in those fields, rather than hand them off to police officers. And for good reason! Police officers aren’t trained to handle these sorts of issues. That lack of training tends to result in arrests, violence, and even the killing of people police have been asked to help.

Denver’s STAR (Support Team Assistance Response) has been able to handle many calls normally routed to cops without deploying cop tactics: you know, the command-and-control aggression that often manages to make these situations worse, if not actually deadly for those requiring mental health assistance.

So, there’s that. A limited test has shown consistently good results, which should be all the argument Denver legislators need to provide funding to expand STAR assistance to a round-the-clock effort.

But that’s just Denver. Even though it’s the state’s most populous city, its success story has been overlooked by state legislators who apparently feel the best thing for cops is the same lack of accountability they’ve enjoyed for years.

Legislators had a chance to impose greater accountability, but decided to go the other way, as Marissa Ventrelli reports for the Denver Gazette.

A bill that would have required law enforcement agencies to investigate all allegations of officer misconduct died in the House last week following significant revisions.

Sponsors said the measure would increase protections for officers who report alleged misconduct by their peers. Critics, notably law enforcement agencies and organizations, argued the sponsors did not include them in discussions for such an important measure.

Under House Bill 1460 as introduced, the failure to investigate reports of misconduct would have constituted workplace discrimination, for which civil action may be initiated.

The bill’s origin story is one of cop-on-cop harassment. Former Edgewater police officer McKinzie Rees helped craft the bill after being sexually assaulted twice by a fellow officer. Reporting it to supervisors did nothing but force Rees to resign, along with being placed on the state’s Brady list, ensuring she’d never be used as a witness in court, no matter what law enforcement agency employed her.

But it had obvious benefits for regular people, too. It strengthened whistleblower protections for cops reporting on other cops, but also would have benefited citizens who’ve filed complaints by forcing law enforcement agencies to instigate investigations, rather than just ignore the complaints of the policed.

The main opposition was none other than the state’s largest police union. Police unions routinely oppose efforts that might result in more scrutiny of officers. In this case, though, the union opposed any additional scrutiny being applied to cops who attacked, harassed, or sexually assaulted other cops.

The Fraternal Order of Police requested sponsors withdraw the bill and to instead convene a working group during the interim to discuss a multitude of issues related to whistleblowing, such as officer obligation to report misconduct, due process for officers facing allegations by whistleblowers, and protections for the whistleblowers themselves.

“We hope that you will accept this offer to engage in research and dialogue over the summer and fall so that all interested parties can feel assured that any future legislation on these topics in the upcoming session is founded in fact, necessity, and effective collaboration,” the group said. 

This makes it clear police unions are there to protect the worst cops — the ones willing to cross the “thin blue line” to harm other police officers. While everyone expects cops to treat citizens like punching bags and doormats, the “thin blue line” illusion is supposed to trick everyone into believing cops stand together united against evil. But if it’s internal evil, the police union wants nothing to do with any efforts to root it out. That’s just fucking disgusting.

And that’s how a bill dies, with the approval of people who think cops shouldn’t be scrutinized — much less punished — for any misconduct they commit, even if the targets of their wrongdoing are their fellow officers. These are the words of a legislator who seems more willing to provide gratis car washes for officers’ personal cars than serve any member of his constituency that can’t be bothered to get a badge-wearing job.

Rep. Ryan Armagost, R-Berthoud, a former law enforcement officer and member of the committee that heard the bill, said he was “offended” that law enforcement agencies had not been involved in discussions about the bill to the extent they wanted to be. 

Here’s an idea, Rep. Armagost: fuck ’em. If these agencies want to be involved, they’re sure to be involved. All this statement means is this rep is offended someone didn’t ask the kind of cops he likes (which would be the kind that sexually assault fellow officers) what kind of legislation they wanted and instead tried to right some wrongs by offering the state’s sexual assault victims (well… at least those in uniform) some form of protection, redress, and deterrence.

And it was state reps like Armagost who got what they wanted by stripping the bill of anything meaningful and parking it on blocks out in the front yard. For those of you who still think there’s nothing partisan about full-throated support of the worst cops this nation employs, please re-read the second quoted paragraph until the truth sinks in.

By the time the bill reached the floor for its third and final reading, all of its major provisions had been amended out, save for the creation of a working group. 

Ultimately, the bill died, 31-33. All of the Republicans, except Soper, voted in opposition, though it’s possible he would’ve asked for a recount and switched his vote if the bill had passed.

To add insult to the injuries suffered by former officer McKinzie Rees, the union added this statement after the bill was carved up by bootlickers and left to die on the House floor:

“We appreciate that the majority of House members shared our concerns about the need for a robust stakeholder process before passing legislation of this importance. Ensuring law enforcement employees have due process protection and a safe and healthy work environment are serious, complex issues that warrant responsible and thoughtful solutions.”

It pretty much makes you want to vomit. The union cheered on “due process” and “a safe and healthy work environment.” But it really doesn’t care much about the first (the bill only required an investigation to be opened, which means plenty of due process was still available to officers) and obviously gives zero shits about the latter, since it means officers attacked/assaulted by other officers will continue to be frozen out by the worst in their ranks and expected to leave the force, rather than see their grievances adequately addressed by the government agencies that hired them.

This didn’t go the way anyone (other than cops and their unions) wanted it to, but first let’s acknowledge the fact that the city of Denver is actually trying to make things better for both cops and the people they serve.

Here’s how that’s going:

In its first three months, STAR handled 350 calls — only a very small percentage of 911 calls. But the immediate developments appeared positive. A supposed indecent exposure call handled by STAR turned out to be a homeless woman changing clothes in an alley. A trespassing call turned out to be another homeless person setting up a tent near some homes. Suicidal persons were helped and taken to care centers. Homeless residents were taken to shelters. No one was arrested. No one was beaten, tased, or shot.

The zero arrests streak continues. STAR has released its six-month report [PDF] and the calls it has handled have yet to result in an arrest, strongly suggesting police officers aren’t the best personnel to handle crises like these — unless the desired result is more people in holding cells.

Denver decided to try what (far too few) other cities are trying: routing mental health/social services calls to professionals in those fields, rather than hand them off to police officers. And for good reason! Police officers aren’t trained to handle these sorts of issues. That lack of training tends to result in arrests, violence, and even the killing of people police have been asked to help.

Denver’s STAR (Support Team Assistance Response) has been able to handle many calls normally routed to cops without deploying cop tactics: you know, the command-and-control aggression that often manages to make these situations worse, if not actually deadly for those requiring mental health assistance.

So, there’s that. A limited test has shown consistently good results, which should be all the argument Denver legislators need to provide funding to expand STAR assistance to a round-the-clock effort.

But that’s just Denver. Even though it’s the state’s most populous city, its success story has been overlooked by state legislators who apparently feel the best thing for cops is the same lack of accountability they’ve enjoyed for years.

Legislators had a chance to impose greater accountability, but decided to go the other way, as Marissa Ventrelli reports for the Denver Gazette.

A bill that would have required law enforcement agencies to investigate all allegations of officer misconduct died in the House last week following significant revisions.

Sponsors said the measure would increase protections for officers who report alleged misconduct by their peers. Critics, notably law enforcement agencies and organizations, argued the sponsors did not include them in discussions for such an important measure.

Under House Bill 1460 as introduced, the failure to investigate reports of misconduct would have constituted workplace discrimination, for which civil action may be initiated.

The bill’s origin story is one of cop-on-cop harassment. Former Edgewater police officer McKinzie Rees helped craft the bill after being sexually assaulted twice by a fellow officer. Reporting it to supervisors did nothing but force Rees to resign, along with being placed on the state’s Brady list, ensuring she’d never be used as a witness in court, no matter what law enforcement agency employed her.

But it had obvious benefits for regular people, too. It strengthened whistleblower protections for cops reporting on other cops, but also would have benefited citizens who’ve filed complaints by forcing law enforcement agencies to instigate investigations, rather than just ignore the complaints of the policed.

The main opposition was none other than the state’s largest police union. Police unions routinely oppose efforts that might result in more scrutiny of officers. In this case, though, the union opposed any additional scrutiny being applied to cops who attacked, harassed, or sexually assaulted other cops.

The Fraternal Order of Police requested sponsors withdraw the bill and to instead convene a working group during the interim to discuss a multitude of issues related to whistleblowing, such as officer obligation to report misconduct, due process for officers facing allegations by whistleblowers, and protections for the whistleblowers themselves.

“We hope that you will accept this offer to engage in research and dialogue over the summer and fall so that all interested parties can feel assured that any future legislation on these topics in the upcoming session is founded in fact, necessity, and effective collaboration,” the group said. 

This makes it clear police unions are there to protect the worst cops — the ones willing to cross the “thin blue line” to harm other police officers. While everyone expects cops to treat citizens like punching bags and doormats, the “thin blue line” illusion is supposed to trick everyone into believing cops stand together united against evil. But if it’s internal evil, the police union wants nothing to do with any efforts to root it out. That’s just fucking disgusting.

And that’s how a bill dies, with the approval of people who think cops shouldn’t be scrutinized — much less punished — for any misconduct they commit, even if the targets of their wrongdoing are their fellow officers. These are the words of a legislator who seems more willing to provide gratis car washes for officers’ personal cars than serve any member of his constituency that can’t be bothered to get a badge-wearing job.

Rep. Ryan Armagost, R-Berthoud, a former law enforcement officer and member of the committee that heard the bill, said he was “offended” that law enforcement agencies had not been involved in discussions about the bill to the extent they wanted to be. 

Here’s an idea, Rep. Armagost: fuck ’em. If these agencies want to be involved, they’re sure to be involved. All this statement means is this rep is offended someone didn’t ask the kind of cops he likes (which would be the kind that sexually assault fellow officers) what kind of legislation they wanted and instead tried to right some wrongs by offering the state’s sexual assault victims (well… at least those in uniform) some form of protection, redress, and deterrence.

And it was state reps like Armagost who got what they wanted by stripping the bill of anything meaningful and parking it on blocks out in the front yard. For those of you who still think there’s nothing partisan about full-throated support of the worst cops this nation employs, please re-read the second quoted paragraph until the truth sinks in.

By the time the bill reached the floor for its third and final reading, all of its major provisions had been amended out, save for the creation of a working group. 

Ultimately, the bill died, 31-33. All of the Republicans, except Soper, voted in opposition, though it’s possible he would’ve asked for a recount and switched his vote if the bill had passed.

To add insult to the injuries suffered by former officer McKinzie Rees, the union added this statement after the bill was carved up by bootlickers and left to die on the House floor:

“We appreciate that the majority of House members shared our concerns about the need for a robust stakeholder process before passing legislation of this importance. Ensuring law enforcement employees have due process protection and a safe and healthy work environment are serious, complex issues that warrant responsible and thoughtful solutions.”

It pretty much makes you want to vomit. The union cheered on “due process” and “a safe and healthy work environment.” But it really doesn’t care much about the first (the bill only required an investigation to be opened, which means plenty of due process was still available to officers) and obviously gives zero shits about the latter, since it means officers attacked/assaulted by other officers will continue to be frozen out by the worst in their ranks and expected to leave the force, rather than see their grievances adequately addressed by the government agencies that hired them.

If you're looking for a political message in Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes, consider the following: The story begins "many generations" after the death of the previous reboot trilogy's hero, Caesar. Caesar was the first ape to speak, following the spread of a strange virus. Eventually, he became the leader of the apes in a war against the remnants of humanity. Caesar's teachings—apes should not kill each other, and apes are stronger together—have become quasi-religious dogma (ape-ma?) amongst the apes who live on in the post-apocalyptic world. 

But those beliefs have been perverted by an authoritarian sect run by Proximus, a strutting, vainglorious bonobo bent on unifying and dominating the fragmented ape clans into something greater. Proximus preaches strength and glory; it turns out the bonobos, like all men, are obsessed with Rome. But his footsoldiers massacre peaceful ape clans, and his murderous forces wear face coverings and are known as "masks." His whole kingdom appears to be built on personal whim and something resembling slavery. Talk about a banana republic. 

Masks, mad dictators, post-pandemic chaos, power fantasies of restoring Rome? Perhaps this is a story about Trump? About antifa? About revolution and empire? But no, not really. It's just a story about a bunch of animated monkeys fighting. 

The sociopolitical notions about an ape society built atop the ashes of human civilization are the most interesting concepts in Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes—and the least well-explored. Rather than dig in and engage with the story's fundamentally political underpinnings, the story is, instead, content to nod in their direction while pursuing a notably less thoughtful action-adventure story. 

The end result isn't bad: Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes is a solid enough summer blockbuster, with top-notch special effects and a family-friendly emotional core that most movies of this class lack. But what's frustrating is that the movie gestures at something much more interesting than what ends up on screen.  

The story starts with a trio of young chimpanzees who belong to a peaceful, idyllic clan devoted to the raising of eagles. But soon their village is attacked by masked-wearing outsiders, including a silverback brute named Sylva. Truly, it's gorilla warfare. 

Noa, the son of the eagle clan's leader, manages to escape. The movie then becomes a sort of road movie in which Noa must return to his tribe and free them from Proximus' authoritarian rule. Easy rider, raging apes. 

Noa is no Caesar, but he's a chimp off the old block: thoughtful, full of moral conviction, yearning to grow into something more. After the attack on his village, he runs into Raka, a wise old Orangutan who has studied Caesar's teachings, and who steals every scene he's in. The pair are soon joined by Mae, a human woman who initially appears to be a mute scavenger but turns out to be something more. All of this comes to a head when Mae and Noa reach Proximus' kingdom, which consists of a gigantic, rusted-out ship that's been beached near a massive, locked bunker that he believes holds tools that will make him more powerful. There's a sort of Mad Max parallel here, but with inquisitive monkeys instead of leather-clad car fiends; perhaps this picture should have been called Furious George. 

Proximus has been studying ancient Rome, with the help of Trevathan, an older human man (William H. Macy) who has accepted the notion that apes will rule the earth. Some of the movie's most interesting scenes involve Trevathan arguing with Mae about whether to accept ape dominion. But until the movie's final moments, it's not at all clear what Mae's alternative is, or why she even thinks there is an alternative. What is Mae even fighting for? Too much of the movie's worldbuilding is shuffled into what are effectively footnotes. 

What's left is a relatively simple narrative about a young ape struggling to free his clan and finding himself in the process. It's competently told, and the computer character animation is consistently excellent, with everything from wet fur to minor skin blemishes convincingly rendered. Yet that impressive level of detail doesn't extend to the story, which at two and a half hours long threatens to turn this into Kingdom of the Planet of Bored Apes.

In many ways, it's a relief that the movie doesn't really attempt to be a Trump-era political tract. (Remember the Gorilla Channel?) But I do wish the story had taken its own ideas about politics and civilizational conflict a little more seriously. The movie is fine, but simian swagger aside, it doesn't have much thematic heft; Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes amounts to little more than a couple hours of monkeying around.  

The post <i>Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes</i> Is Just a Lot of Monkeying Around appeared first on Reason.com.

Dennis Powanda and Vincent Yakaitis are bound together by a common experience: They were both criminally charged in connection with an attempted burglary. Powanda was the burglar, and Yakaitis was the property owner.

Ah, justice.

Indeed, that's not a misprint, parody, or a bad joke (although I wish it were the latter). Powanda was arrested and charged with criminal trespass and burglary, along with other related offenses, for executing the botched raid a little before 2:00 a.m. in February 2023 at Yakaitis' property in Port Carbon, Pennsylvania. The government charged Yakaitis, who is in his mid-70s, with using a firearm without a license after he shot Powanda, despite that it appears prosecutors agree Yakaitis justifiably used that same firearm in self-defense.

Whatever your vantage point—whether you care about criminal justice reform and a fair legal system, or gun rights, or all of the above—it is difficult to make sense of arresting and potentially imprisoning someone over what essentially amounts to a paperwork violation. That injustice is even more glaring when considering that Powanda, 40, allegedly charged at Yakaitis, who happens to be about three and a half decades older than Powanda.

Pennsylvania's permitting regime does carve out a couple of exceptions, one of which would seem to highly favor Yakaitis. Someone does not need a license to carry, according to the law, "in his place of abode or fixed place of business." Yakaitis owned the home Powanda attempted to burglarize. The catch: He didn't live there—it reportedly had no tenants at the time of the crime—opening a window for law enforcement to charge him essentially on a technicality.

If convicted, Yakaitis faces up to five years in prison and a $25,000 fine. Quite the price to pay for protecting your life on your own property. The misdemeanor charge also implies that Yakaitis has no history of using his weapon inappropriately, or any criminal record at all, as Pennsylvania law classifies his particular crime—carrying a firearm without a license—as a felony if the defendant has prior criminal convictions and would be disqualified from obtaining such a license. In other words, we can deduce that Yakaitis was a law-abiding citizen and eligible for a permit, which means he is staring down five years in a cell for not turning in a form and paying a fee to local law enforcement. OK.

Yakaitis is not the first such case. In June, law enforcement in New York charged Charles Foehner with so many gun possession crimes that if convicted on all of them he would face life in prison. Police came to be aware of his unlicensed firearms when Foehner defended himself against an attempted mugger—the surveillance footage is here—after which they searched Foehner's home and found that only some of his weapons were licensed with the state.

Prosecutors classified it as a justified shooting. And then they hit Foehner with an avalanche of criminal charges that would have resulted in a longer prison sentence than his assailant would have received, had he survived.

There's also LaShawn Craig, another New York City man whose case I covered in December. He, too, shot someone in self-defense and he, too, was arrested for doing so without a license. Like Foehner, he was charged with criminal possession of a weapon, a violent felony in New York. For a paperwork violation.

New York is a particularly relevant case study on the subject, as its highly restrictive concealed carry framework was the subject of a landmark Supreme Court case—New York State Rifle & Pistol Association, Inc. v. Bruen—which the majority disemboweled. It wasn't just conservative gun rights advocates who wanted that ruling, although you'd be forgiven for thinking so based on how polarized this debate tends to be. That Supreme Court decision also attracted support from progressive public defenders with The Black Attorneys of Legal Aid, The Bronx Defenders, and Brooklyn Defender Services. As I wrote in June about the amicus brief they submitted to the Court:

[The public defenders] offered several case studies centered around people whose lives were similarly upended. Among them were Benjamin Prosser and Sam Little, who had both been victims of violent crimes and who are now considered "violent felons" in the eyes of the state simply for carrying a firearm without the mandated government approval. Little, a single father who had previously been slashed in the face, was separated from his family while he served his sentence at the Vernon C. Bain Center, a notorious jail that floats on the East River. The conviction destroyed his nascent career, with the Department of Education rescinding its offer of employment.

In many jurisdictions, including New York, it can be expensive and time-consuming to get the required license, which in turn makes the Second Amendment available only to people of a certain class.

So where do we go from here? Those skeptical of rolling back concealed carry restrictions may take comfort in the fact that this doesn't have to be black and white. Governments, for example, can "give eligible persons a 30-day grace period to seek and obtain a permit after being charged, then automatically drop charges and expunge record once obtained," offers Amy Swearer, a senior legal fellow at the Heritage Foundation, or "remove the criminal penalty entirely" and perhaps "make it a fineable infraction," like driving without a license.

Whatever the case, it should be—it is—possible to balance public safety with the right to bear arms, and, as an extension, the right to self-defense. To argue otherwise is to embolden a legal system that incentivizes elderly men like Yakaitis to sit down and take it when someone threatens their life.

The post This Elderly Man Was Arrested After Shooting a Burglar in Self-Defense—for Carrying the Gun Without a License appeared first on Reason.com.

Twenty-five years ago today, two students at Columbine High School in Littleton, Colorado, killed 12 classmates and a teacher, wounded 21 more people, and ended their rampage with a double suicide. The murders dominated news coverage for weeks, first in horrified reaction to the slaughter and then as every faction with a moral panic to promote tried to prove their chosen demon was responsible for the massacre. Even after the nightly newscasts moved on, the slayings left a deep imprint on popular culture, inspiring songs and films and more. They remain infamous to this day.

Why does Columbine still loom large? The easy answer would be that it was such a terrible crime that people found it hard to forget it. That is certainly true, but it doesn't fully answer the question, since there have been several terrible crimes since then that do not have the place in our public memory that Littleton does. More Americans, I suspect, remember the names of the Columbine killers than the name of the man behind the Las Vegas Strip massacre of 2017, even though the latter happened much more recently, killed five times as many people, and led directly to a bump stock ban whose constitutionality the Supreme Court is currently considering.

Another possible answer would be that Columbine was the first crime of its nature, but that's not really right. There were several high-profile mass killings in the decade before Columbine, including the Luby's shooting of 1991, an especially lethal but now rarely mentioned assault that killed 23 people and wounded 20 more. There was no shortage of shootings at schools before Littleton either—people may have a hard time believing this, but more students died in school shootings in 1993 than in the bloody Columbine year of 1999. It's just that those earlier killings were relatively small incidents, with one or two victims apiece, rather than the big body count in Colorado.

That was, and in fact still is, the most common form of school homicide. "The vast majority of fatal school shootings involve a single victim and single assailant…nothing like Columbine," says James Alan Fox, a criminologist at Northeastern University and one of the country's leading authorities on mass murder. In the early '90s, the public debate over school violence often centered around gangs, but that didn't reflect the typical campus shooting either. "Some was gang-related," Fox explains, "but most were just one student killing a classmate or teacher."

Nor was Columbine the first massacre to be both a mass shooting and a school shooting. In 1989, to give a particularly gruesome example, a gunman murdered five children and wounded 32 more at the Cleveland Elementary School playground in Stockton, California. Yet while that certainly attracted national coverage at the time, it didn't get the level of attention that Columbine did, nor did it linger as long in our cultural memory.

Fox has a thought about why that might be. "Stockton wasn't covered with live video," he says. "CNN was the only cable news channel and didn't have all that many subscribers. No video to show, the broadcast networks weren't about to preempt the soaps with nothing to show." With Columbine, by contrast, "a crew happened to be nearby."

Today, of course, virtually everyone is a camera crew of one. And our newsfeed scrolling isn't just interrupted when word spreads of a mass shooting: It is interrupted when there's a rumor of a mass shooting, even if the story turns out to be false. We have become hyper-aware of distant violence, and of the possibility of distant violence, and of the outside chance that the violence will not be so distant tomorrow. Columbine didn't cause that shift, but perhaps it presaged it.

Here's another possible answer: As those video images circulated through the media, Columbine changed the way the public imagines such crimes. If the popular stereotype of school violence three decades ago involved gangs, the popular stereotype of a mass shooter was a disgruntled postal worker. (Hence the expression "going postal," which is still used today though I doubt many younger Americans have any idea where it comes from.) There is a 1994 episode of The X-Files, "Blood," in which a mysterious force—apparently a mixture of chemicals and screens—compels people to commit mass murders; the character at the center of it appears in the first scene working in a post office, and at the end has taken a rifle to the top of a university clock tower (a visual reference to the 1966 tower shooting at the University of Texas at Austin). Watching it feels like an hour-long tour of the American anxieties of three decades ago. It's striking, then, that none of the killings involve children in jeopardy or take place at a K-12 school.

So perhaps Columbine created a new archetype, a new template—not just for ordinary people scared of spectacular crimes, but for alienated copycats plotting attacks of their own. In 2015, Mark Follman and Becca Andrews of Mother Jones counted at least 74 murder plots directly inspired by Columbine, 21 of which were actually carried out; a 2019 follow-up brought the total to more than 100.

To be clear: Those copycats may well have committed crimes without Columbine. The Colorado massacre gave them a script for fulfilling their violent impulses, but that does not mean it sparked their impulses in the first place. Nor did they all follow that script very closely: A surprisingly substantial number of those killers and would-be killers planned to use knives or explosives rather than guns. And Columbine wasn't necessarily the only crime that influenced them. In their 2021 book The Violence Project, for example, the criminologists Jillian Peterson and James Densley interview a perpetrator who studied three additional school shootings besides Columbine.

But these people all saw something in the massacre that appealed to them. "Plotters in at least 10 cases cited the Columbine shooters as heroes, idols, martyrs, or God," Mother Jones reported. In 14 cases, the plotters intended to act on the Columbine anniversary; three "made pilgrimages to Columbine while planning attacks."

On the 20th anniversary of the Littleton assaults, as Mother Jones was updating its count of Columbine copycats, Peterson and Densley noted in The Conversation that they had examined 46 school shootings committed since 1999, six of them mass shootings, and found that in 20 cases the attackers saw Columbine as a model. These included the murderers behind the two most infamous incidents of school violence in that period, the Sandy Hook massacre of 2012 and the Parkland killings of 2018. (The scholars also found evidence of influence abroad: In 2019, a pair of mass shooters in Brazil were reportedly inspired by the Columbine carnage.)

Peterson and Densley do not always agree with Fox—they are prone to using phrases like "mass shooting epidemic," a frame that Fox wisely rejects—but their conclusions in The Conversation are consistent with his comments about cable and live video:

Before Columbine, there was no script for how school shooters should behave, dress and speak. Columbine created "common knowledge," the foundation of coordination in the absence of a standardized playbook. Timing was everything. The massacre was one of the first to take place after the advent of 24-hour cable news and during "the year of the net." This was the dawn of the digital age of perfect remembering, where words and deeds live online forever. Columbine became the pilot for future episodes of fame-seeking violence.

Five years after they wrote that passage, even the reactions to a public mass shooting feel scripted, down to an almost fractal level—from the anti-gun activists mocking the phrase "thoughts and prayers" to the 4chan trolls blaming the slayings on the comedian Sam Hyde. Some years see more crimes like this and some years see fewer. But in both, we have made these murders into something they weren't before: a public ritual with assigned roles for everyone. That too is a legacy of Columbine.

The post Why We Remember Columbine appeared first on Reason.com.

White Rural Rage: The Threat to American Democracy, by Tom Schaller and Paul Waldman, Penguin Random House, 320 pages, $32

A new book, White Rural Rage, paints white rural Americans, a small and shrinking minority of the country, as the greatest threat to American democracy. The authors, political scientist Tom Schaller and journalist Paul Waldman, try to buttress this argument by citing scholarly publications. We are two of the scholars whose work they cite, and we cry foul.

The overarching argument of White Rural Rage is that ruralness can be equated with racism, xenophobia, conspiracism, and anti-democratic beliefs. But rigorous scholarship shows that rural identity is not reducible to these beliefs, which are vastly more numerous outside rural communities than within them. To get to a conclusion so at odds with the scholarly consensus, Schaller and Waldman repeatedly commit academic malpractice.

Consider the "ecological fallacy" of political geography, on which some of the most salacious arguments in White Rural Rage depend. Most people know that you cannot argue something about individuals because of how groups to which that individual belongs behave. The most famous example of this poor reasoning is thinking that because the richest states of Massachusetts and California vote Democratic, rich people everywhere vote Democrat. The opposite is true.

But Schaller and Waldman depend on this well-known fallacy to support their most provocative claims. Because authoritarianism predicted support for Donald Trump in the 2016 Republican primaries and because rural residents tend to support Trump, they say rural residents are the most likely to be authoritarian. Because white evangelicals are most likely to support Christian nationalist beliefs and because 43 percent of rural residents identify as evangelical, they say the hotbed of Christian nationalism is in rural communities. Perhaps the most egregious form of guilt-by-association comes in a weakly sourced analysis of who supports "constitutional sheriffs": Not a single study of rural attitudes is cited in that section of the book.

It gets worse. In several instances, the authors misinterpret what the academic research they cite says. For example, they use a report by the Chicago Project on Security and Threats to argue that "rural Americans are overrepresented among those with insurrectionist tendencies." But the actual report concludes exactly the opposite: "The more rural the county, the lower the county rate of sending insurrectionists" to the January 6 Capitol riot. Moreover, when a peer-reviewed article in the journal Political Behavior compared rural and non-rural beliefs on whether politically motivated violence is a valid means for pursuing political change, it revealed that rural Americans are actually less supportive of political violence.

Another example comes when the authors rely on a report from the Public Religion Research Institute on QAnon conspiracy theories. The report has its own fundamental problems, including a suspect measure of QAnon support in the first instance, but what Schaller and Waldman do with those data is more egregious yet. First, the authors do not even interpret the model output correctly, writing that the results mean that "QAnon believers are one and a half times more likely to live in rural than urban areas." But the report presents odds ratios, which means that living in a rural area increases the likelihood by just 30 percent. Inaccurate interpretation aside, if they were more statistically literate they would see this is probably not a model worth citing. On the exact same page, the model output suggests that, compared to white Americans, being black increases the likelihood of believing in QAnon by 90 percent! Weird results like this are red flags that should make us ask questions, not confirm our priors.

Beyond issues of sparse and selective citing, the book misrepresents the findings of multiple scholars who have built careers conducting research on rural politics and identity.

The authors characterize the academic concept of rural resentment (the less headline-grabbing academic term that Schaller and Waldman have apparently rebranded as "rage") as necessarily including racial resentment as a constitutive component. But academic work on rural identity has overwhelmingly shown that these two are distinguishable. They are different concepts.

Indeed, as we have painstakingly demonstrated in our own work, rural resentment involves perceptions of geographic inequity. Many rural people see inequity in who politicians pay attention to, which communities get resources and which don't, and in how different types of communities are portrayed in the media. This is not racial prejudice by another name.

Schaller and Waldman favorably cite our research showing that there is a modest correlation between rural resentment and racial resentment, a commonly used attitudinal measure of negative racial stereotyping. What they fail to note is the only statistically and intellectually sound conclusion that could be drawn from our data: While this slight correlation exists, rural resentment is an attitude distinct from racial prejudice.

In another peer-reviewed publication that Schaller and Waldman erroneously cite, we found that rural resentment strongly explains rural preferences and behavior even when one controls, statistically, for a litany of factors, including racial resentment, that Schaller, Waldman, and others conflate with it. The value of our academic work has been to elucidate the place-based dynamics of American politics—to say that there is much more than rage and rebellion in the heartland. It's distressing to see a book citing our work to support misleading arguments.

At a time when trust in experts is on the decline throughout America, flawed analysis like the ideas in White Rural Rage may be a greater threat to American democracy than anything coming from the countryside. It is popular these days to say "follow the science." Well, the science shows that there is no mystery to rural rage: Years of neglect, abandonment, and scorn have driven rural America to view "experts" like Schaller and Waldman as the enemy.

The post The Truth About 'Rural Rage' appeared first on Reason.com.

Kat Abu on TikTok and Media Matters have revealed that a Fox News guest, identified as James Lee, has a contentious past that was not disclosed on air. James Lee, whose full name is James Lee DePaola, appeared on Jesse Watters' show to discuss crime, but Watters failed to mention DePaola's prior violent behavior over trivial matters, such as a dispute over a grilled cheese sandwich. — Read the rest

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"I'm just floored and shocked," Rankin County, Mississippi, Sheriff Bryan Bailey said last August after five of his former deputies admitted to punching, kicking, tasing, torturing, and humiliating two men during an unlawful home invasion the previous January. "This is a perfect example of why people don't trust the police, and never in my life did I think it would happen in this department."

According to an investigation by The New York Times and Mississippi Today, however, Bailey had plenty of reasons to think something like this would happen in his department. Similar things had been happening in Rankin County "for nearly two decades," the Times reported in November.

"Narcotics detectives and patrol officers, some [of whom] called themselves the Goon Squad, barged into homes in the middle of the night, accusing people inside of dealing drugs," the paper said. "Then they handcuffed or held them at gunpoint and tortured them into confessing or providing information."

The Times and Mississippi Today corroborated "17 incidents involving 22 victims based on witness interviews, medical records, photographs of injuries and other documents." Those cases almost always involved "small drug busts," and the accusers "described similar tactics." Deputies "held people down while punching and kicking them or shocked them repeatedly with Tasers." They "shoved gun barrels into people's mouths." Three people "said deputies had waterboarded them until they thought they would suffocate," while "five said deputies had told them to move out of the county."

Although the federal charges that drew national attention to police brutality in Rankin County involved two black victims, Bailey's deputies were equal-opportunity abusers. They "appear to have targeted people based on suspected drug use, not race," the Times said. "Most of their accusers were white."

The deputies' pattern of abuse was reflected in complaints and lawsuits. "More than a dozen people have directly confronted Sheriff Bailey and his command staff about the deputies' brutal methods," the Times noted, and "at least five people have sued the department alleging beatings, chokings and other abuses by deputies associated with the Goon Squad."

Bailey said he had never heard of the Goon Squad and had no reason to think his deputies were abusing their authority. "Nobody's ever reported that to me," he said in August, and he "never, ever could've imagined" that the five convicted deputies, who included a man he said he knew "well" and had chosen as investigator of the year in 2013, were capable of "these horrendous crimes."

Bailey, who was reelected in November after running unopposed, rejected calls for his resignation. "I'm going to fix this," he promised. "I'm going to make everyone a whole lot more accountable."

The post Sheriff Who Presided Over Violent 'Goon Squad' Tries To Play Dumb appeared first on Reason.com.

Iain S. Forrest, 29, is an electric cellist and a doctor who was attacked last week while performing in a New York subway station. He stated, "At 5:50 pm on February 14th, while performing at 34th St Herald Square station, a woman wearing a mustard jacket, red scarf, and gloves assaulted me by smashing the back of my head with my metal water bottle. — Read the rest

The post NYPD is on the lookout for woman who bashed subway musician on the head with a metal bottle (video) appeared first on Boing Boing.