newyorker--2020-02-03--The Super Bowl Halftime Show, and the Ageless Comforts of J. Lo.

In late February , 2000 , the actress and pop star Jennifer Lopez arrived at the Grammy Awards in a jungle-printed Versace dress made of layers of silk chiffon .
Lopez , who was thirty , was nominated for a Grammy in the best dance-track category , with her song “ Waiting for Tonight , ” off her first album , “ On the 6.
” She was accompanied on the red carpet by her then boyfriend , Sean ( Puff Daddy ) Combs , the hip-hop mogul , though the attention went to Lopez and her dress .
With @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and a midriff stretching to below the navel , the dress revealed a full span of leg and an ample swath of bare sternum and breasts , stopping precariously short of revealing the nipples .
If the dress didn ’ t seem vulgar ( and it didn ’ t ; it was merely louchely sexy ) , it was because of the incredible control Lopez seemed to hold over it .
How did it stay on ?
In 2000 , I—and , I suspect , many others—hadn ’ t yet learned of double-sided @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ) and so Lopez appeared to be commanding the gown to stay put with some kind of witchery .
She was so visually magnetic , and made so many people want to see her and then see her again , that she famously led to the creation of Google Images .
There was something uncanny about seeing Lopez wear the dress again , or at least a bejewelled , short-sleeved version of it , last September , when she walked the Versace fashion show in Milan .
There she was , her appearance @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ s finale , her jungle-print emerald chiffon once more cut low at the torso and high at the crotch , her presence commanding the audience to rise to its feet , iPhone cameras held up as one to capture the moment .
This time , the magic didn ’ t emerge so much from the gown ’ s mysterious clinging powers ( the two decades that had passed had opened our eyes to some of fashion ’ s tricks ) but , rather , from Lopez ’ s own resilience .
As @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Lopez , now fifty , “ looked exactly the same .
If anything , more toned and worked out.
” Though her appearance was revealed , after the fact , to be part of an advertising tie-in with Google , it seemed more momentous , more meaningful , than a mere corporate gimmick .
For a brief moment , time appeared to collapse back into itself .
We were in 2019 , but we were also , somehow , in 2000 .
9/11 hadn ’ t happened , nor had the Iraq War @ @ @ @ @ @ @ had George W. Bush , or the recession , or Trump , and it was Lopez—by virtue of her eerily ageless face and body—that allowed us to be within these two moments at once ; it was Lopez herself who was magic .
Magazines and Web sites regularly publish articles that promise to reveal the secrets to Lopez ’ s continued youthfulness ( how does she look so good at fifty ? )
, and her ability to maintain a firm-skinned foxiness is a key part of our fascination with her .
( @ @ @ @ @ @ @ how she does this , though I would imagine that a punishing exercise regimen and diet , and access to top dermatologists and perhaps plastic surgeons , form at least part of the answer . )
But Lopez ’ s still-point-of-the-turning-world quality goes beyond her physical appearance .
There is something reassuringly unchanging about her presence , too .
“ Don ’ t be fooled by the rocks that I got , I ’ m still , I ’ m still Jenny from the block , ” she sang in 2002 , in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , and I recall , at the time , scoffing at the singer ’ s insistence on her Bronx-girl-next-door bona fides .
Yet , over the years , I have come to believe that there is something to this claim .
What distinguishes J .
Lo.
, at least as far as her public persona goes , is her stalwart J. Lo.-ness : a warmth , a sass , a strong work ethic , a taking-care-of-business bossiness cut through with a girlish lightness , and , in terms of looks , smooth , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ suggest a sensual but steely edged femininity .
( On Twitter , the culture writer Hunter Harris has recently made an ongoing joke of Lopez ’ s consistent reliance on nude-colored lipstick : even in her makeup , J .
Lo .
can ’ t be anything but J .
Lo . )
At the Super Bowl LIV halftime show , on Sunday , in Miami , Lopez was set to take the stage alongside Shakira , the Colombian pop star , who is forty-three , and who broke into the American market @ @ @ @ @ @ @ after Lopez released “ On the 6.
” Last year , Cardi B and Rihanna , who is signed to Jay-Z ’ s Roc Nation label , refused to perform at the Super Bowl , to object the N.F.L.
’ s treatment of the quarterback Colin Kaepernick , who was shunned by the league after he insisted on taking the knee during the national anthem , as a protest against police brutality .
( Jay-Z has also criticized the N.F.L .
in the past . )
Since then , however , Roc Nation @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , has signed a deal with the N.F.L.
, which included advising the league on the halftime show and participating in its social-justice initiative Inspire Change—a deal that drew some criticism for its potential defanging of protest against the league , but that smoothed the way for Shakira ’ s performance .
In the days leading up to the event , some suggested that Lopez , as the bigger star , should have headlined the halftime show on her own .
( “ Let ’ s be real : La Lopez has been @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , ” the New York Post wrote .
“ Sorry , Shaki , but Jenny doesn ’ t need you on her block.
” ) When the flame-haired Shakira took the stage , though , in a red sparkly minidress and matching boots , supported by a troupe of lockstepping female dancers , to perform a medley of some of her greatest hits ( she was joined , at one point , by the Puerto Rican reggaetón star Bad Bunny , who wore a crystal-strewn silver-toned coat and suit ) , she looked @ @ @ @ @ @ @ monster bangers including “ Whenever , Wherever , ” “ Hips Don ’ t Lie , ” and “ I Like It Like That.
” She played a glittery guitar , manipulated a thick length of rope during a belly-dance-inflected routine , crowd-surfed , and waggled her tongue at the camera .
Still , it was Lopez ’ s night .
After Shakira ’ s six-minute set , she appeared , clinging to an Empire State Building-like spire in a skintight grommet-studded one-piece black leather suit , which somehow managed to include a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ began her medley with “ Jenny from the Block ” ( “ We from the Bronx , New York !
” ) , later moving on to “ Get Right.
” Changing into a corset-like contraption the texture of broken glass , she tore into “ Waiting for Tonight , ” performing some unbelievably agile feats of athleticism on a stripper pole .
The Colombian reggaetón star J Balvin joined for a snippet of the Major Lazer hit “ Que Calor , ” which then blended into “ Love Don ’ t Cost @ @ @ @ @ @ @ moment rife with political overtones , Lopez , alongside a choir of children that included her eleven-year-old daughter , Emme , sang a rendition of “ Let ’ s Get Loud , ” mixed with a few bars from “ Born in the U.S.A. , ” while wearing a feathered cape that bore the American flag on one side and the Puerto Rican flag on the other .
Lopez ’ s voice isn ’ t her strongest asset , and she spent minutes at a time dancing rather than singing , but her @ @ @ @ @ @ @ furious , and the movements onstage resembled , at times , the gruelling , near-apocalyptic cheerleading routines recently familiarized by the Netflix documentary series “ Cheer , ” if the nineteen-year-olds of Navarro College were fifty-year-old triple-threat multimillionaires .
Lopez was still here , and she was spectacular .

In late February, 2000, the actress and pop star Jennifer Lopez arrived at the Grammy Awards in a jungle-printed Versace dress made of layers of silk chiffon. Lopez, who was thirty, was nominated for a Grammy in the best dance-track category, with her song “Waiting for Tonight,” off her first album, “On the 6.” She was accompanied on the red carpet by her then boyfriend, Sean (Puff Daddy) Combs, the hip-hop mogul, though the attention went to Lopez and her dress. With a skirt cut up to the crotch and a midriff stretching to below the navel, the dress revealed a full span of leg and an ample swath of bare sternum and breasts, stopping precariously short of revealing the nipples. If the dress didn’t seem vulgar (and it didn’t; it was merely louchely sexy), it was because of the incredible control Lopez seemed to hold over it. How did it stay on? In 2000, I—and, I suspect, many others—hadn’t yet learned of double-sided fashion tape (a simpler time!) and so Lopez appeared to be commanding the gown to stay put with some kind of witchery. She was so visually magnetic, and made so many people want to see her and then see her again, that she famously led to the creation of Google Images.
There was something uncanny about seeing Lopez wear the dress again, or at least a bejewelled, short-sleeved version of it, last September, when she walked the Versace fashion show in Milan. There she was, her appearance a surprise stunt pegged to the show’s finale, her jungle-print emerald chiffon once more cut low at the torso and high at the crotch, her presence commanding the audience to rise to its feet, iPhone cameras held up as one to capture the moment. This time, the magic didn’t emerge so much from the gown’s mysterious clinging powers (the two decades that had passed had opened our eyes to some of fashion’s tricks) but, rather, from Lopez’s own resilience. As Vanessa Friedman noted in the Times, Lopez, now fifty, “looked exactly the same. If anything, more toned and worked out.” Though her appearance was revealed, after the fact, to be part of an advertising tie-in with Google, it seemed more momentous, more meaningful, than a mere corporate gimmick. For a brief moment, time appeared to collapse back into itself. We were in 2019, but we were also, somehow, in 2000. 9/11 hadn’t happened, nor had the Iraq War, nor, for that matter, had George W. Bush, or the recession, or Trump, and it was Lopez—by virtue of her eerily ageless face and body—that allowed us to be within these two moments at once; it was Lopez herself who was magic.
Magazines and Web sites regularly publish articles that promise to reveal the secrets to Lopez’s continued youthfulness (how does she look so good at fifty?), and her ability to maintain a firm-skinned foxiness is a key part of our fascination with her. (I can’t purport to guess how she does this, though I would imagine that a punishing exercise regimen and diet, and access to top dermatologists and perhaps plastic surgeons, form at least part of the answer.) But Lopez’s still-point-of-the-turning-world quality goes beyond her physical appearance. There is something reassuringly unchanging about her presence, too. “Don’t be fooled by the rocks that I got, I’m still, I’m still Jenny from the block,” she sang in 2002, in the first single from her third album, and I recall, at the time, scoffing at the singer’s insistence on her Bronx-girl-next-door bona fides. Yet, over the years, I have come to believe that there is something to this claim. What distinguishes J. Lo., at least as far as her public persona goes, is her stalwart J. Lo.-ness: a warmth, a sass, a strong work ethic, a taking-care-of-business bossiness cut through with a girlish lightness, and, in terms of looks, smooth, honey-hued planes, pleasingly arranged, that suggest a sensual but steely edged femininity. (On Twitter, the culture writer Hunter Harris has recently made an ongoing joke of Lopez’s consistent reliance on nude-colored lipstick: even in her makeup, J. Lo. can’t be anything but J. Lo.)
At the Super Bowl LIV halftime show, on Sunday, in Miami, Lopez was set to take the stage alongside Shakira, the Colombian pop star, who is forty-three, and who broke into the American market in the early two-thousands, not long after Lopez released “On the 6.” Last year, Cardi B and Rihanna, who is signed to Jay-Z’s Roc Nation label, refused to perform at the Super Bowl, to object the N.F.L.’s treatment of the quarterback Colin Kaepernick, who was shunned by the league after he insisted on taking the knee during the national anthem, as a protest against police brutality. (Jay-Z has also criticized the N.F.L. in the past.) Since then, however, Roc Nation, which counts Shakira as a client, has signed a deal with the N.F.L., which included advising the league on the halftime show and participating in its social-justice initiative Inspire Change—a deal that drew some criticism for its potential defanging of protest against the league, but that smoothed the way for Shakira’s performance. In the days leading up to the event, some suggested that Lopez, as the bigger star, should have headlined the halftime show on her own. (“Let’s be real: La Lopez has been in the midst of a major moment,” the New York Post wrote. “Sorry, Shaki, but Jenny doesn’t need you on her block.”) When the flame-haired Shakira took the stage, though, in a red sparkly minidress and matching boots, supported by a troupe of lockstepping female dancers, to perform a medley of some of her greatest hits (she was joined, at one point, by the Puerto Rican reggaetón star Bad Bunny, who wore a crystal-strewn silver-toned coat and suit), she looked and sounded great, moving fleetly between monster bangers including “Whenever, Wherever,” “Hips Don’t Lie,” and “I Like It Like That.” She played a glittery guitar, manipulated a thick length of rope during a belly-dance-inflected routine, crowd-surfed, and waggled her tongue at the camera.
Still, it was Lopez’s night. After Shakira’s six-minute set, she appeared, clinging to an Empire State Building-like spire in a skintight grommet-studded one-piece black leather suit, which somehow managed to include a thong as well as boots. She began her medley with “Jenny from the Block” (“We from the Bronx, New York!”), later moving on to “Get Right.” Changing into a corset-like contraption the texture of broken glass, she tore into “Waiting for Tonight,” performing some unbelievably agile feats of athleticism on a stripper pole. The Colombian reggaetón star J Balvin joined for a snippet of the Major Lazer hit “Que Calor,” which then blended into “Love Don’t Cost a Thing.” Later, in a moment rife with political overtones, Lopez, alongside a choir of children that included her eleven-year-old daughter, Emme, sang a rendition of “Let’s Get Loud,” mixed with a few bars from “Born in the U.S.A.,” while wearing a feathered cape that bore the American flag on one side and the Puerto Rican flag on the other. Lopez’s voice isn’t her strongest asset, and she spent minutes at a time dancing rather than singing, but her showmanship was unparalleled. The pace was furious, and the movements onstage resembled, at times, the gruelling, near-apocalyptic cheerleading routines recently familiarized by the Netflix documentary series “Cheer,” if the nineteen-year-olds of Navarro College were fifty-year-old triple-threat multimillionaires. Lopez was still here, and she was spectacular.
Last year, in the all-women ensemble hit “Hustlers,” Lopez played a den-mother stripper and con woman named Ramona Vega. She didn’t get an Oscar nod for the role, and her fans were furious, but the decision made some sense to me: in Ramona, Lopez wasn’t so much creating a new character as embodying the most iconic version of J. Lo. In one memorable scene, the Lorde song “Royals” plays as Ramona walks down a city street, in tight jeans and a black velvet Juicy Couture hoodie emblazoned with a bejewelled crown, her caramel hair flowing from beneath her hood. “How you doin’, girl?” she hails a passerby, genially. Then, she draws cash out of a bodega A.T.M., turns around, and immediately gets busted by the Feds. Even as she puts her hands up and allows a wad of bills to fly from her palm, her demeanor is, still, equal parts queen and homegirl. The movie’s time line begins in 2007, and goes on until the mid twenty-tens, and, as in the case of the Versace dress, there is something comforting in having Lopez hand-hold us from the pre-2008 high times through the crisis of the recession and beyond—a journey that does not seem to have left its marks on the star. Lopez continues to age, and it will eventually have an effect on her appearance and stamina, but for now she seems to be an exception to the rules that the rest of us live by. Watching her in movies or in music videos, walking the runway or performing in the Super Bowl halftime show, we can buy into the fantasy that we, too, might move frictionlessly over the course of time, affecting our surroundings without being, in turn, affected by them.


newyorker--2020-02-03--Watch Live: Closing Arguments Begin in Donald Trump’s Impeachment Trial

On Monday , closing arguments begin in the Senate impeachment trial of Donald Trump .
The chance that the proceedings might have continued down a different avenue , with senators calling witnesses and requesting documents , had always been slim , given the partisan voting patterns in the Republican-controlled Senate .
A vote on Friday formally ruled out the possibility .
After Chief Justice John Roberts read the question aloud— “ Shall it be in order to consider and debate , under the impeachment rules , any motion to subpoena witnesses or documents ?
” —it took about seven minutes @ @ @ @ @ @ @ senators by name and repeat their votes into a microphone .
The unsurprising result was forty-nine votes in favor of the motion and fifty-one against it .
Only two Republicans , Mitt Romney and Susan Collins , voted for calling witnesses , as they had signalled they would .
Ahead of Friday ’ s vote , the Democratic representatives prosecuting the case spoke of its historical importance .
“ This will set a new precedent .
This will be cited in impeachment trials from this point till the end of history , ” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , said .
“ The witnesses the President is concealing will tell their stories , and we will be asked why we didn ’ t want to hear that information when we had the chance.
” The House manager Jason Crow put it another way , asking the senators , “ What do you want your place in history to be ?
” A few places in history are certain .
Trump is the third U.S. President to be impeached , and , if the proceedings go as planned , he will become @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to deliver a State of the Union address while simultaneously the subject of an impeachment trial .
The Senate is expected to render a verdict on Wednesday afternoon .
Last week , Susan B. Glasser wrote that the predictable vote not to call witnesses would at least be the end of a protracted charade : “ The trial that wasn ’ t really a trial will be over , and we will no longer have to listen to it .
The Senate can stop pretending.
” But arguments in the impeachment trial of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ more days .
You can watch them on the live stream above .

On Monday, closing arguments begin in the Senate impeachment trial of Donald Trump. The chance that the proceedings might have continued down a different avenue, with senators calling witnesses and requesting documents, had always been slim, given the partisan voting patterns in the Republican-controlled Senate. A vote on Friday formally ruled out the possibility. After Chief Justice John Roberts read the question aloud—“Shall it be in order to consider and debate, under the impeachment rules, any motion to subpoena witnesses or documents?”—it took about seven minutes for the Senate clerk to call the senators by name and repeat their votes into a microphone. The unsurprising result was forty-nine votes in favor of the motion and fifty-one against it. Only two Republicans, Mitt Romney and Susan Collins, voted for calling witnesses, as they had signalled they would.
Ahead of Friday’s vote, the Democratic representatives prosecuting the case spoke of its historical importance. “This will set a new precedent. This will be cited in impeachment trials from this point till the end of history,” Adam Schiff, the lead House manager, said. “The witnesses the President is concealing will tell their stories, and we will be asked why we didn’t want to hear that information when we had the chance.” The House manager Jason Crow put it another way, asking the senators, “What do you want your place in history to be?”
A few places in history are certain. Trump is the third U.S. President to be impeached, and, if the proceedings go as planned, he will become, on Tuesday, the second President to deliver a State of the Union address while simultaneously the subject of an impeachment trial. The Senate is expected to render a verdict on Wednesday afternoon. Last week, Susan B. Glasser wrote that the predictable vote not to call witnesses would at least be the end of a protracted charade: “The trial that wasn’t really a trial will be over, and we will no longer have to listen to it. The Senate can stop pretending.” But arguments in the impeachment trial of Donald Trump will continue for a few more days. You can watch them on the live stream above.


newyorker--2020-02-03--The Wrong Way to Fight the Opioid Crisis

One morning in August , Toth responded to a call from an old brown brick apartment building north of Columbus .
It resembled a two-story motel , with exterior staircases and iron railings .
The referring detective told Toth that a woman and her boyfriend had fallen asleep together the previous night : “ She wakes up this morning , about 8 a.m.—he ’ s fuckin ’ dead.
” The girlfriend was sitting outside with a neighbor , wearing a pink tie-dyed shirt , black leggings , and Nike slides .
Toth , noticing that the woman had uncontrollable jitters @ @ @ @ @ @ @ leg.
” Upstairs , in Apartment H , the dead man lay face up at the foot of a mattress on the living-room floor .
He was bare-chested , and wearing dungarees and dark socks .
Foamy vomit had run from the left side of his mouth and down his face .
The inside of his left forearm held needle marks .
The detectives looked around .
The apartment was largely empty , but on a dresser they found a charred spoon , scales , baggies , and a razor blade .
A @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ; in one corner was an aluminum bat .
There was a deck of cards , a bunch of dice , and a scorecard pencilled with players ’ names : Daddy , Baby .
Baby was up by one .
Next to the body lay a pack of Marlboros and a purple lighter .
A tiny photograph of a woman was taped to the pack .
That ’ s how personal property is labelled in rehab , one of the detectives pointed out .
The woman in the photograph wasn ’ t the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in jail .
Toth put the girlfriend in the front seat of his unmarked police vehicle and asked for an explanation .
Detective Chuck Clark , whose case it was , sat in the back , listening closely .
The girlfriend told the investigators that whatever had killed her boyfriend must have come from elsewhere .
She said , “ I know he found something in that cigarette pack—I know it !
I can feel it in my fucking soul !
” The detectives hadn ’ t found anything in the pack except @ @ @ @ @ @ @ saw something in that cigarette pack.
” The girlfriend claimed that she ’ d spent the night with her head on her boyfriend ’ s chest , which also seemed dubious : in many overdoses , loud “ agonal ” breathing precedes death .
Another detective , listening at the car ’ s open window , finally murmured , “ Code B , ” which meant to arrest her .
Toth gave the woman one last chance .
He said , “ Your boyfriend is no longer here , and all we want @ @ @ @ @ @ @ what happened , ” she said .
Toth told her , “ I think you know something.
” The woman , as if suddenly comprehending her precarious position , said , “ Come with me.
” They all filed back into the apartment .
In the bedroom , she reached into the closet and , sobbing , retrieved a baggie of beige powder from the overhead tracks of the sliding door .
She had made things better for herself by giving up the drugs , but worse by lying .
The detective who @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , “ I just don ’ t have the patience for that shit .
She knew what fucking killed him.
” ( The man died of a combination of cocaine , fentanyl , and acetylfentanyl , a synthetic opioid that can be up to a hundred times more powerful than morphine ; on the street , it ’ s known as Apache , Jackpot , and China White . )
At the very least , the detectives could charge the girlfriend with obstruction of justice and tampering with evidence .
It was also @ @ @ @ @ @ @ involuntary manslaughter , and let the courts figure it out .
It fell to Clark whether or not to arrest the woman .
Toth assured him that he ’ d back him whatever he decided .
Clark thought for a moment , then said , “ Personally , I don ’ t think she ought to be Code B ’ d. ” With that , the woman escaped Jamie Maynard ’ s fate .
Not long ago , Jamie ’ s mom asked her , “ Would you be alive right now if @ @ @ @ @ @ @ were sitting in the family room of Frank and Debbie ’ s house one afternoon .
Jamie thought for a minute and said , “ Probably not.
” She has now been sober for three years .
Whenever I visited the Bartons , Jamie ’ s parents always sat together quietly , on their sectional sofa , listening to their daughter describe her life .
At one point , Debbie said , “ I don ’ t understand the whole addiction thing , so then I get really mad.
” Addiction , in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” Jamie told her mom , “ It literally changes the chemicals in your brain.
” According to the National Institute on Drug Abuse , addiction is a complex brain disease— “ a medical illness , ” not a “ moral failing.
” Northeastern ’ s Action Lab notes that addiction “ alters brain neurochemistry such that it compels a person to satisfy cravings despite recognized negative consequences.
” In 2015 , both Jamie and Courtney would have suffered “ intolerable distress ” at the prospect of being unable to use heroin ; @ @ @ @ @ @ @ had diabolically transformed their lives into what the NIDA calls “ a landscape of cues and triggers , like a video-game environment cunningly designed to pose the greatest challenge to his or her willpower at every turn.
” A twisted distinction of overdose-homicide cases is that many defendants need the same mental-health and addiction treatments that are offered to survivors of an overdose .
The laws purport to protect life , but they may actually increase fatalities : a witness to an overdose may be less likely to dial 911 , for fear @ @ @ @ @ @ @ laws , which provide immunity to people who call for help , don ’ t apply to overdose-homicide cases .
According to the Northeastern study , the statutes “ create a quandary for people calling 911 : you ( probably ) won ’ t get in trouble if the person experiencing an accidental overdose event survives , but if death occurs , you ’ re calling the cops on yourself.
” While Jamie was in prison , her parents took care of her newborn daughter and her sons .
( Timothy violated the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ back in prison . )
After she got out , she returned to living with them .
She and Jeremy resumed their relationship .
Three times a week , they attend an A.A. meeting together .
Even though Jamie is no longer incarcerated , her punishment , she discovered , has not ended .
Her trafficking charge can eventually be expunged , but an F1—a first-degree felony—is for life .
Barring a pardon or a special type of appeal , which she can not afford , she will always be ineligible for certain @ @ @ @ @ @ @ her gaming license .
Last August , desperate after months of looking for a job , she walked into a temp agency and told a supervisor the whole story .
The agency found her a job as a janitor at a factory .
Jamie got up at five-thirty every morning to mop floors and clean toilets .
She was home by the time her kids got off the school bus .
She took weekend and holiday shifts , for the overtime .
In October , she received a promotion , to quality control @ @ @ @ @ @ @ She would like a full-fledged job at the plant but has delayed applying , fearing that she ’ ll fail the company ’ s mandatory background check .
Jamie sometimes regrets not allowing her case to go to trial .
She wonders if there shouldn ’ t be a less severe kind of criminal charge for defendants who are not high-level traffickers .
She wonders , too , what a jury would have made of Courtney ’ s autopsy , which revealed that she died not strictly of a heroin overdose but , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ heroin and alprazolam—Xanax .
Other substances found in her bloodstream included the sedative lorazepam and the depression medication Trazodone .
In another case , in nearby Licking County , an appeals court recently overturned a conviction in a case involving a mixture of heroin and cocaine .
And last year the Massachusetts Supreme Judicial Court struck down a conviction because prosecutors failed to prove that the defendant knew that the heroin he ’ d given a schoolmate would kill him .
Because overdoses are often medically ambiguous , defendants might be wise to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ cases to trial .
Leukel , the Florida attorney , told me , “ The hammer of the criminal-justice system carries so much weight , people are accepting responsibility for things they shouldn ’ t be accepting responsibility for.
” If more prosecutors began losing such cases , they might stop making overdose-homicide charges against low-level offenders , especially people struggling with drug addiction themselves .
This past December , the family of a Franklin County man who died after a friend gave him heroin asked the court not to impose a prison @ @ @ @ @ @ @ said , would be “ the worst possible outcome.
” The dead man ’ s sister told the judge , “ It could easily have been the other way around.
” ♦

Courtney, whose last name was Penix, worked as a nanny in Worthington Hills, a suburb of Columbus. She had a boyfriend who lived near Dayton; on Facebook, she told her friends that she was in the first stable relationship of her life. Recently, she had begun spending most nights with him, then driving to Columbus for work. She started texting Jamie when she came to town. In early March, she wrote, “Hey i know someone with xanax if u ever have anyone that wants some.” Jamie wasn’t interested.
Several days later, Jamie heard from Courtney again: “Hey can u get h.” When Jamie said that she could probably find some, “in an hour or so,” Courtney said, “Damn. U can’t make it sooner?” As they discussed when and where to meet, Courtney said, “I just need to leave my house so my parents don’t question me.” The next night, she told Jamie, “That was some good shit u got.” Jamie asked, “You want more?”
Jamie and Courtney traded calls and texts throughout the month. March 20th: Courtney complained about a “bitch” who had asked her for drugs, and then balked after “I told her either she pays me 25 for em or gives me gas money.” March 22nd: Courtney asked Jamie to cover her for Xanax, but she declined. At the end of March, when no one in the Hilltop seemed to have Xanax, Courtney asked about heroin, noting, “Idk if it will help my withdrawals but I can try I guess.”
In early April, Courtney wanted subs and Xanax but couldn’t leave work. Jamie offered to bring them to her, before reporting to the casino. Courtney gave Jamie her employers’ address, saying, “Just make sure nothing happens please, I have 2 kids here.” Jamie, whose sons were five and three, replied that she would “never put kids in danger.”
Jamie never stole to support her addiction or smoked when her children were around. She tended to respond to Courtney like a patient older sister. When Courtney nagged her for running late, Jamie didn’t react; when Courtney asked her to leave drugs in an unlocked car, for pickup, she refused. Courtney said that she had recently been robbed at gunpoint, and Jamie worried that she would get herself killed.
On April 25th, Courtney headed to Columbus for her older sister’s birthday party. Joking that her boyfriend was driving her nuts, she told Jamie, “I’m about to do the rest of these Xanax,” adding that when the pills were gone she’d “be fucked.” Jamie, recognizing Courtney’s fear of withdrawal, replied, “Well worst case scenario I can get you dope and that’ll help.”
Before Jamie could track anything down, Courtney found her own supply of Xanax. She asked if Jamie wanted some. Jamie said, “No I’m good.”
April 27, 2015, was a blustery Monday. Courtney asked Jamie for Xanax again. When an hour and a half elapsed, with no response, she requested “150 worth” of heroin “and a rig,” meaning a needle and a syringe.
Jamie had already planned to use, before her night shift. By 5 p.m., she was at her dealer’s house, smoking. As the dealer measured out Courtney’s share, Jamie checked in, by text. Courtney told her, “I just tried to get more money from those check loan places and they wouldn’t do it lol.”
“Lmao,” Jamie replied. “I just got you $175 worth plus two rigs so you owe me $180.”
They agreed to meet outside a Walmart on Hilliard-Rome Road, a corridor dense with fast-food restaurants and big-box chains. At around 5:20 p.m., Jamie parked next to Courtney’s Dodge Neon, got out, and spent the next two minutes talking with her. When she noticed Courtney slurring her words, she asked her, “Did you just take Xanax?” Combining heroin and Xanax produced the coveted Cadillac high, but every addict knew that the combination was dangerous. Courtney assured Jamie that she hadn’t taken Xanax since the previous night—Jamie believed her when she said, “I’m just sick.”
Jamie thought about how “livid” she’d be if another user, inches away, withheld the substance that would immediately make her well. She handed over the dope. The next text from Courtney’s phone arrived shortly after eleven o’clock. It said, “Courtney has passed away from an overdose.”
At first, Jamie thought that someone was playing a horrible prank, and didn’t respond. The next day, she returned to the Hilltop, and mentioned the text to her dealer. He warned her, “If the police come to talk to you, you’d better not mention me.” Jamie assured him that she wouldn’t. She later told me, “You always hear those stories about people telling who their dealer was, and then their family ends up dead.”
Jamie spent the summer expecting the police to question her about drugs. But what really anguished her was the thought that Courtney might still be alive were it not for their meeting. No longer concerned with her own life, Jamie spent more and more time high on heroin.
On August 12th, she had just begun her Wednesday-night shift when a casino security guard pulled her off the floor. Two plainclothes detectives from the Special Investigations Unit of the Franklin County Sheriff’s Office were waiting to question her. Jamie responded to their small talk amiably, and signed a document acknowledging that she understood her legal rights.
Their initial questions were simple: Where do you live? Are you married? How old are your children?
Then: How did you know Courtney? Through a mutual friend, Jamie said. The older of the two officers, a sergeant, asked, “Did you ever move any other kind of drugs for him, other than Suboxone?” Jamie said no.
“Listen, we’re not here to arrest you for drug trafficking,” the sergeant told her. When was the last time she’d seen Courtney?
“I got a text message saying she was dead,” Jamie said, adding that she’d seen her that day.
“Do you remember what you guys did?”
“She was trying to find drugs.”
What kind of drugs? “Anything to make her well.” Did Jamie “help her out”? Jamie said that she couldn’t remember.
The sergeant told her he needed the truth: “We want to know where the dope came from that you gave to her.”
Phil and Susan Penix, whose daughter Courtney took drugs supplied by Maynard, supported Maynard’s prosecution. Photograph by Justine Kurland for The New Yorker
Jamie couldn’t imagine giving up her dealer’s name. Panicked, she said, “I want a lawyer then.”
The sergeant informed her that she was the subject of a homicide investigation. The charge would be involuntary manslaughter. Under state law, her offense would, like rape and aggravated robbery, be a felony of the first degree.
When Jamie’s parents learned of the investigation, they came to several devastating realizations at once: their daughter had a heroin addiction; her stable job and her improved appearance had been part of a sustained deception; she was in profound legal trouble. A young woman just like Jamie was dead. Frank and Debbie couldn’t imagine what Courtney’s family was going through, any more than they could fathom the idea of Jamie—who had never been in legal trouble—being held responsible for a homicide.
Eight days later, when Jamie reported for work, investigators were waiting to arrest her. They confiscated her phone, expecting her texts to match Courtney’s; they swabbed the inside of her mouth, expecting her DNA to align with forensic evidence collected from Courtney’s car.
After Jamie spent the night in the county jail, her parents bailed her out and took her home. Cut off from heroin, she was soon, as she later told me, “flopping on the floor like a fish.” One of her sisters drove her to the emergency room, and Jamie spent the next few days in hospital detox.
Jamie and her family met with Mark Collins, a former Franklin County prosecutor who was now a well-known criminal-defense attorney in Columbus. Jamie’s situation infuriated him. More and more, law-enforcement officials and prosecutors were treating fatal overdoses as homicide cases. Overdose deaths were a tragedy, Collins believed, but they weren’t crimes unless the drugs had been given maliciously. What Jamie needed was treatment, not prison.
Jamie faced a kind of criminal prosecution that takes various forms, depending on the jurisdiction. Such cases have been categorized as “drug-induced homicide,” “murder by overdose,” “drug delivery resulting in death,” and “overdose homicide.” More than two dozen states now have laws allowing prosecutors to bring felony charges against anyone who provides drugs that prove fatal. States without specific legislation, such as Ohio, can indict a supplier under existing statutes: manslaughter, depraved heart, reckless homicide, murder. Potential punishments range from a year in prison to death. According to a recent study by the Northeastern University School of Law’s Health in Justice Action Lab, prosecutors in almost every state have exercised the overdose-homicide option.
Legal experts have traced these prosecutions to the fatal overdose of Len Bias, a superstar forward at the University of Maryland, who collapsed on June 19, 1986, in his dorm suite. Less than forty-eight hours earlier, he’d been drafted by the Boston Celtics.
Bias had taken high-quality cocaine, but politicians and the media nevertheless associated his death with the nation’s burgeoning crack epidemic. The Democrats were trying to retake the Senate, and wanted to prove that they could be tough on crime. House Speaker Tip O’Neill urged Congress to craft forceful antidrug legislation that candidates could cite in their reëlection campaigns. Eric Sterling, then the assistant counsel for the House Judiciary Committee, later recalled that lawmakers drafted the legislation without holding a single hearing, adding, “We did not consult with the Bureau of Prisons, or with the federal judiciary, or with D.E.A., or with the Justice Department.”
That October, Congress passed the Anti-Drug Abuse Act of 1986. It established mandatory minimum prison sentences for a range of narcotics crimes, including a “death resulting” offense involving the sharing or the sale of drugs. Sterling, now the director of the Criminal Justice Policy Foundation, which focusses on failed drug policy, has noted that Congress assumed the legislation would lead law-enforcement officials to target “high-level traffickers.” But America’s prisons soon filled with low-level offenders; illicit drug use and trafficking continued unabated.


newyorker--2020-02-04--Anthony Veasna So Reads “Three Women of Chuck’s Donuts”

Anthony Veasna So reads his story from the February 10 , 2020 , issue of the magazine .
So is @ @ @ @ @ fiction at Syracuse University .
His writing has appeared in n+1 , Granta , and @ @ @ @ @ first piece of fiction in the magazine .

Photograph by Chris Sackes
Anthony Veasna So reads his story from the February 10, 2020, issue of the magazine. So is an M.F.A. candidate in fiction at Syracuse University. His writing has appeared in n+1, Granta, and ZYZZYVA. This is his first piece of fiction in the magazine.


newyorker--2020-02-04--Will Big Business Finally Reckon with the Climate Crisis?

In a mansion built by the heir of an oil tycoon on New York ’ s Upper East Side , a group of financiers , philanthropists , and corporate executives recently gathered to discuss the climate crisis .
The occasion was a new report , co-authored by an unlikely combination of McKinsey consultants and scientists from the Woods Hole Research Center ( W.H.R.C . )
, on how physical climate risks will affect socioeconomic systems in the next few decades .
During a presentation on the report ’ s findings , much of it in the preening language of fixed @ @ @ @ @ @ @ charts , Spencer Glendon , an economist and senior fellow at W.H.R.C.
, was especially blunt with the crowd .
He said that he tells decision-makers things such as “ ‘ You know how many people in India are going to die from this , if you do nothing ?
Ignoring that now is on you.
’ ” If investors and business leaders don ’ t account for these risks , “ that will be unforgivable , ” he said .
“ Because everyone knew they were coming.
” Glendon had spent the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , but he makes a point to stand out slightly , with spiky gray hair , a yellow plaid bow tie , and rectangular brown-and-red glasses .
He grew up outside Detroit , in the nineteen-seventies , where he became “ familiar at a very young age with things going badly , ” he told me .
“ I became fascinated by the question : Why does that happen in some places and not in others ?
” Early in his career , he moved back and forth between places that worked well @ @ @ @ @ @ @ was an engineer in an auto factory in Detroit and a banker on the South Side of Chicago before moving to a small-business lending program in Russia ; then he got a Ph.D. in economic history at Harvard .
He joined the investment firm Wellington Management in the late nineties , first as a researcher trying to understand what might become of Asia after the financial crisis .
He eventually became a partner .
Seven years ago , he started asking questions about climate change .
“ What I discovered was that investment @ @ @ @ @ @ @ it , ” he said .
“ They used language for climate change that they wouldn ’ t use for anything else .
They wanted certainty , belief .
They didn ’ t think or talk probabilistically .
They talked about it in a way that was binary .
That is not how you should think about investing.
” He went on , “ You can get people in the business community interested in just about anything .
You can get uptight white guys to talk about erectile dysfunction and diarrhea , if @ @ @ @ @ @ @ couldn ’ t get them to talk about climate change.
” Glendon started conducting his own research , talking to scientists and reading scientific papers , including climate-change work put forth by W.H.R.C .
“ What I realized was that this was actually mankind ’ s first good forecast , ” he said .
“ It was not just one variable but a suite of variables that all fit together—rainfall , season length , night versus day temperatures—a composite of how the world had changed and not changed .
By the time I @ @ @ @ @ @ @ these things the scientists had predicted had come true .
It became more and more clear to me how disruptive , how painful , how much of a challenge to civilization it would be for these changes to happen.
” In pure economic terms , however , he saw a gold mine .
“ I was working in an industry where , if you were right sixty per cent of the time , you could become fabulously wealthy .
And these forecasts had been right for forty years.
” Glendon began speaking to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and , four years ago , gave a lecture at McKinsey ’ s global-sustainability summit , in Berkeley , titled “ Man ’ s First Good Forecast.
” Soon afterward , he quit his job at Wellington and started helping W.H.R.C .
build a team that could make climate science vivid and relevant to the business world .
In 2018 , Dickon Pinner , a senior partner at McKinsey , contacted Glendon , whom he had befriended after the Berkeley summit , about a new research project .
The report they produced , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in part , on a few ideas that had preoccupied Glendon .
First , it was researched and written to focus on near-term climate risks—nothing beyond the lifetime of a standard thirty-year mortgage , because many parts of society , such as funding the government and housing , are organized around those time horizons .
Also , global heating , owing to the additional carbon already in the atmosphere , is locked in for at least the next ten years and will continue to cause myriad harmful impacts , regardless of the actions @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ It was surprising to realize the extent of how much risk there is out to 2030 , and how much is already locked in , ” Mekala Krishnan , a senior fellow at the McKinsey Global Institute , told the crowd , during a panel discussion with Glendon .
The report also emphasized something long understood by scientists but which the McKinsey consultants explained to the crowd as if it were a revelation .
The future climate will not resemble the relatively stable climate of the past ten thousand years , which @ @ @ @ @ @ @ civilization .
“ Investing in an environment where tomorrow doesn ’ t look like today is very tricky , ” Pinner , the McKinsey partner , who was also on the panel , said .
The global economy relies on endless layers of systems that were built within the stable climate of the past .
All these physical climate impacts and thresholds—lethal heat waves preventing outdoor labor and destroying harvests , floods imperilling infrastructure and shutting down electric grids—will not just affect G.D.P .
or decrease economic activity slightly , Pinner said .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ actually , it ’ s an impact on the factors of production that drive G.D.P .
And , therefore , it ’ s more structural.
” He went on , “ It ’ s actually an attack on wealth.
” He had the room ’ s attention .
Glendon said , “ The economics of climate change , ” as it has been calculated and analyzed to date , “ will be seen as one of the worst mistakes humans have made , much worse than any of the denialists.
” The models @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to seventy-five years , a period of time when , at least in rich countries , “ nothing happened , ” he said .
“ No wars , no Great Depression—one bit of inflation and one financial crisis and that ’ s it.
” Many typical models take data from that historic period and project what might happen in the future .
They are also based on the assumption that the experience of the economy is contingent on the climate at that time .
But , Glendon said , they haven ’ t @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ The actual experience of the economy is contingent on the climate of the future.
” For instance , many economic models still assume that India will keep growing indefinitely .
“ They just have seven-per-cent growth forever of G.D.P.
, of demand , ” Glendon said .
“ There is no question about whether climate change might impact this growth .
India gets rich forever.
” This leads to a major assumption , which “ underpins the entire oil market , ” among others , Glendon said .
But the report found @ @ @ @ @ @ @ work outdoors in India , and less than ten per cent of the country ’ s homes have air-conditioning .
By 2030 , possibly two hundred million Indians could be exposed to lethal heat waves , in which the temperature could kill a well-hydrated person who spent only four hours outside , even in the shade , and by which the average number of lost daylight working hours could increase to the point where between 2.5 and 4.5 per cent of G.D.P .
could be at risk annually .

In a mansion built by the heir of an oil tycoon on New York’s Upper East Side, a group of financiers, philanthropists, and corporate executives recently gathered to discuss the climate crisis. The occasion was a new report, co-authored by an unlikely combination of McKinsey consultants and scientists from the Woods Hole Research Center (W.H.R.C.), on how physical climate risks will affect socioeconomic systems in the next few decades. During a presentation on the report’s findings, much of it in the preening language of fixed assets, liability risk, and flow charts, Spencer Glendon, an economist and senior fellow at W.H.R.C., was especially blunt with the crowd. He said that he tells decision-makers things such as “ ‘You know how many people in India are going to die from this, if you do nothing? Ignoring that now is on you.’ ” If investors and business leaders don’t account for these risks, “that will be unforgivable,” he said. “Because everyone knew they were coming.”
Glendon had spent the majority of his career working in finance, but he makes a point to stand out slightly, with spiky gray hair, a yellow plaid bow tie, and rectangular brown-and-red glasses. He grew up outside Detroit, in the nineteen-seventies, where he became “familiar at a very young age with things going badly,” he told me. “I became fascinated by the question: Why does that happen in some places and not in others?” Early in his career, he moved back and forth between places that worked well and places that worked poorly: he was an engineer in an auto factory in Detroit and a banker on the South Side of Chicago before moving to a small-business lending program in Russia; then he got a Ph.D. in economic history at Harvard. He joined the investment firm Wellington Management in the late nineties, first as a researcher trying to understand what might become of Asia after the financial crisis. He eventually became a partner. Seven years ago, he started asking questions about climate change.
“What I discovered was that investment professionals talked in a weird way about it,” he said. “They used language for climate change that they wouldn’t use for anything else. They wanted certainty, belief. They didn’t think or talk probabilistically. They talked about it in a way that was binary. That is not how you should think about investing.” He went on, “You can get people in the business community interested in just about anything. You can get uptight white guys to talk about erectile dysfunction and diarrhea, if there are stocks involved. But you couldn’t get them to talk about climate change.”
Glendon started conducting his own research, talking to scientists and reading scientific papers, including climate-change work put forth by W.H.R.C. “What I realized was that this was actually mankind’s first good forecast,” he said. “It was not just one variable but a suite of variables that all fit together—rainfall, season length, night versus day temperatures—a composite of how the world had changed and not changed. By the time I’m looking at this, all these things the scientists had predicted had come true. It became more and more clear to me how disruptive, how painful, how much of a challenge to civilization it would be for these changes to happen.” In pure economic terms, however, he saw a gold mine. “I was working in an industry where, if you were right sixty per cent of the time, you could become fabulously wealthy. And these forecasts had been right for forty years.”
Glendon began speaking to the corporate world about climate risk, and, four years ago, gave a lecture at McKinsey’s global-sustainability summit, in Berkeley, titled “Man’s First Good Forecast.” Soon afterward, he quit his job at Wellington and started helping W.H.R.C. build a team that could make climate science vivid and relevant to the business world. In 2018, Dickon Pinner, a senior partner at McKinsey, contacted Glendon, whom he had befriended after the Berkeley summit, about a new research project.
The report they produced, after a yearlong collaboration, hangs, in part, on a few ideas that had preoccupied Glendon. First, it was researched and written to focus on near-term climate risks—nothing beyond the lifetime of a standard thirty-year mortgage, because many parts of society, such as funding the government and housing, are organized around those time horizons. Also, global heating, owing to the additional carbon already in the atmosphere, is locked in for at least the next ten years and will continue to cause myriad harmful impacts, regardless of the actions that nations now take to decarbonize. “It was surprising to realize the extent of how much risk there is out to 2030, and how much is already locked in,” Mekala Krishnan, a senior fellow at the McKinsey Global Institute, told the crowd, during a panel discussion with Glendon.
The report also emphasized something long understood by scientists but which the McKinsey consultants explained to the crowd as if it were a revelation. The future climate will not resemble the relatively stable climate of the past ten thousand years, which accounts for the full span of human civilization. “Investing in an environment where tomorrow doesn’t look like today is very tricky,” Pinner, the McKinsey partner, who was also on the panel, said. The global economy relies on endless layers of systems that were built within the stable climate of the past. All these physical climate impacts and thresholds—lethal heat waves preventing outdoor labor and destroying harvests, floods imperilling infrastructure and shutting down electric grids—will not just affect G.D.P. or decrease economic activity slightly, Pinner said. “Our sense is: no, actually, it’s an impact on the factors of production that drive G.D.P. And, therefore, it’s more structural.” He went on, “It’s actually an attack on wealth.” He had the room’s attention.
Glendon said, “The economics of climate change,” as it has been calculated and analyzed to date, “will be seen as one of the worst mistakes humans have made, much worse than any of the denialists.” The models are all calibrated on the past fifty to seventy-five years, a period of time when, at least in rich countries, “nothing happened,” he said. “No wars, no Great Depression—one bit of inflation and one financial crisis and that’s it.” Many typical models take data from that historic period and project what might happen in the future. They are also based on the assumption that the experience of the economy is contingent on the climate at that time. But, Glendon said, they haven’t incorporated thresholds, or breaking points. “The actual experience of the economy is contingent on the climate of the future.”
For instance, many economic models still assume that India will keep growing indefinitely. “They just have seven-per-cent growth forever of G.D.P., of demand,” Glendon said. “There is no question about whether climate change might impact this growth. India gets rich forever.” This leads to a major assumption, which “underpins the entire oil market,” among others, Glendon said. But the report found that three hundred and eighty million people work outdoors in India, and less than ten per cent of the country’s homes have air-conditioning. By 2030, possibly two hundred million Indians could be exposed to lethal heat waves, in which the temperature could kill a well-hydrated person who spent only four hours outside, even in the shade, and by which the average number of lost daylight working hours could increase to the point where between 2.5 and 4.5 per cent of G.D.P. could be at risk annually.
Florida is another one of the report’s case studies. Many mortgages on homes and properties along the Florida coast now require owners to have flood insurance. Insurance contracts are renewed every year. If, at a certain point, insurance companies will no longer cover properties in a given area, owing to their climate exposure, then owners may risk defaulting on their mortgages. “If you say there are parts of the country where thirty-year mortgages don’t make sense, even just because of uncertainty, bad things will happen in that place,” Glendon told me. “These places will be financially underwater long before they are physically underwater.”
Lending institutions in places with flood-prone properties are already disproportionately pushing these mortgages onto Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac. Those agencies, which are government-sponsored, buy up conforming mortgages, which are based on a fairly simple algorithm, one that does not include expectations about the future. “I think everyone else kind of thinks that someone else holds the risk,” Pinner told the crowd. “Ultimately, the backstop is the federal government.”Pinner pointed out that this is already happening in California, where extreme wildfires are now virtually an annual event. Utility companies are in a tailspin, and state regulators have blocked insurance companies from dumping fire-vulnerable customers. If investors don’t change direction now, at some, far-too-late point, the government, through decarbonization and other regulatory efforts, will likely “have to pull that lever hard,” Pinner said, “and I think that would cause a lot of massive, massive disruption.”


newyorker--2020-02-04--“Pretty Much a Big Mess”: One Iowa Caucus Precinct’s Drama-filled Night

On Monday night , the Iowa caucuses were held in more than sixteen hundred separate precinct rooms across the state .
Pleasantville , twenty-five miles southeast of Des Moines , population seventeen hundred , held its caucus in a gymnasium in Pleasantville High School , home of the Trojans .
The volunteer assigned to check people in was named Ben , and he was still undecided about whom he would caucus for .
Asked how that could be , with only an hour left to make up his mind , he replied , cooly , “ That ’ s a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ designed not for caucusing but for playing basketball .
Along one wall of bleachers , sections were set off for supporters of Joe Biden , Amy Klobuchar , Andrew Yang , and Pete Buttigieg .
Around the rest of the room , clusters of folding chairs had been set out for the other candidates : a Bernie Sanders section below one basketball hoop , Tom Steyer and Elizabeth Warren sections along the far sideline , and a final section , for “ uncommiteds.
” There were also signs up for candidates who are @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Iowa , either intentionally or by default of having so few supporters : Michael Bennet , Michael Bloomberg , Tulsi Gabbard , Deval Patrick .
At half-court , a table had been set up : this was where the caucus chair , Lois Turnage , and the caucus secretary , Matt Russell , would officiate the proceedings .
Half an hour before the start of the caucus , the room was just beginning to fill up .
Tom Roff , the principal of Pleasantville Elementary School , was in one corner , wearing @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Precinct captains are designated by the campaigns to help sway supporters during the multiple rounds of voting that a caucus entails .
“ There ’ s probably a lot of people who have already sort of made their No .
1 choice , but I hope that Pete is maybe No .
2 or No .
3 , ” Roff said .
Over in the Sanders section , a mother and daughter , Denese and Avery Robbins , were sitting patiently .
“ I believe the two-party system is broken , ” Denese @ @ @ @ @ @ @ was the most honest candidate , but Buttigieg and Klobuchar were her second and third choices , respectively .
“ Anybody but Biden , ” she said .
Across the room , Pam Jordan , Warren ’ s precinct captain , was attending her first-ever caucus .
“ I see some people in the Klobuchar camp that I think I can entice over here , ” she said .
By the uncommiteds , a Sanders volunteer was trying to make a last-minute convert of a white-haired man .
“ This little ‘ Not @ @ @ @ @ @ @ special , ” she said .
She handed the man a Sanders sticker .
“ I will leave you with this .
You can do what you want with it.
” A little after 7 p.m. , the doors were closed , and the event got under way .
People present who weren ’ t caucusgoers—children , reporters , a few campaign organizers—were instructed to sit in the balcony .
Russell , the caucus secretary , took an initial head count : a hundred and fifty-two caucusgoers were present .
Twelve delegates to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ stake in the room .
To be considered viable after the first round of voting , Turnage and Russell declared , a candidate would need twenty-three supporters in his or her section .
Before the first round , supporters of each candidate would get to make a one-minute speech in support of their choice .
The speeches would be given in alphabetical order by candidates ’ last names .
“ I don ’ t think anybody is here for Michael Bennet , so I don ’ t think we ’ ll hear from @ @ @ @ @ @ @ After the speeches , it was time for the first alignment .
Turnage explained the complicated steps that awaited the caucusgoers .
They were each to take a two-sided card , on which they would write their candidate preference , depending on who was viable after the first round .
She rang a bell and commenced the first round .
A young Warren organizer looked on nervously from the balcony .
Her name was Sophia Blake ; she was twenty years old and a student at Northwestern .
She was wearing earrings with @ @ @ @ @ @ @ She had interned for the Warren campaign over the summer and had returned in the campaign ’ s closing days to see the caucuses through .
It was obvious from the balcony , though , that there were more people in the Biden , Buttigieg , and Sanders sections than there were in the Warren section .
“ I have faith in the team that we built on the ground , and , obviously , this is one caucus out of many , ” Blake said , looking out at the room .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
I ’ m really hoping we can pull through.
” A little after 8 p.m. , the first alignment was declared over .
Russell went around counting off caucusgoers .
Buttigieg had a commanding lead , with forty-four supporters .
Biden and Sanders were also viable .
Klobuchar , with twenty-one supporters , failed to reach viability by two votes .
People groaned .
Yang , Steyer , and Warren were also not viable .
Turnage explained the next steps of the second alignment : supporters of viable candidates were to stay @ @ @ @ @ @ @ candidates were now free to change their support to one of the viable groups , whose members were also free to persuade and cajole .
People got up from their chairs and mingled .
Democratic speed-dating .
The Buttigieg section was suddenly very crowded .
The Warren section was a ghost town .
In the balcony , Blake was staring at her phone , holding back tears .
“ I ’ m getting texts from people in other precincts , and there ’ s others who are doing very , very well , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” she said .
“ But I ’ m keeping it together .
Well , not really .
But I ’ m trying.
” After fifteen minutes or so , the second alignment was over .
Russell did another count .
The final result : Buttigieg won the night , with fifty-eight supporters .
Biden and Sanders tied for second place , at thirty-one .
And Klobuchar came back from non-viability , ending the night with twenty-nine supporters .
One lone guy in a baseball cap stayed in the uncommitted chairs , staring @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Buttigieg camp was exhilarated .
Courtney Fleming , who will turn eighteen in April , had come into the room undecided and went over to the Buttigieg group on the second alignment .
“ I ’ m not bashing on age , definitely not , because older men and women can definitely get the job done , ” she said .
“ I just like him , and I think he ’ s more of a moderate.
” The complications weren ’ t over .
Russell explained the formula used to determine how @ @ @ @ @ @ @ receive .
“ The way we get to the delegates is that we will take the number of who is affiliated right now , times twelve , which is the number of delegates we have , and then we will divide that by one fifty-two , ” he said .
Buttigieg would receive five delegates .
Klobuchar would receive two delegates .
But here , another twist : Biden and Sanders were tied , so the remaining five delegates would be divided based on the result of the ancient democratic practice of a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Biden ’ s groups sent representatives to the center table .
The coin went up .
Sanders won three delegates , to Biden ’ s two .
The caucus was over , but the drama wasn ’ t .
All around the state , precincts were having trouble reporting their results to the Iowa Democratic Party .
Pleasantville was no exception .
The app that had been built for precincts to convey that their results wasn ’ t working .
“ Everyone was having trouble with the app , and then everybody had @ @ @ @ @ @ @ phones went down , ” Russell said .
He spent sixty-seven minutes and forty-seven seconds on hold with the state Party , only to be told to text in a photograph of the precinct ’ s results .
Hours after the caucus ended , things still weren ’ t sorted .
No one knew more than what they saw in front of them , or in bits and pieces on Twitter .
The campaigns were racing to respond and put the best spin on things .
Buttigieg did well in Pleasantville , but @ @ @ @ @ @ @ or Fort Dodge ?
“ Pretty much a big mess , ” Russell said .
“ I ’ m really concerned that we ’ re putting our first-in-the-nation status in jeopardy.
” Earlier in the night , he ’ d settled a Presidential contest by a coin flip , but things were looking even weirder now .

On Monday night, the Iowa caucuses were held in more than sixteen hundred separate precinct rooms across the state. Pleasantville, twenty-five miles southeast of Des Moines, population seventeen hundred, held its caucus in a gymnasium in Pleasantville High School, home of the Trojans. The volunteer assigned to check people in was named Ben, and he was still undecided about whom he would caucus for. Asked how that could be, with only an hour left to make up his mind, he replied, coolly, “That’s a lot of time.”
The gymnasium was designed not for caucusing but for playing basketball. Along one wall of bleachers, sections were set off for supporters of Joe Biden, Amy Klobuchar, Andrew Yang, and Pete Buttigieg. Around the rest of the room, clusters of folding chairs had been set out for the other candidates: a Bernie Sanders section below one basketball hoop, Tom Steyer and Elizabeth Warren sections along the far sideline, and a final section, for “uncommitteds.” There were also signs up for candidates who are still running for President but have skipped Iowa, either intentionally or by virtue of having so few supporters: Michael Bennet, Michael Bloomberg, Tulsi Gabbard, Deval Patrick. At half-court, a table had been set up: this was where the caucus chair, Lois Turnage, and the caucus secretary, Matt Russell, would officiate the proceedings.
Half an hour before the start of the caucus, the room was just beginning to fill up. Tom Roff, the principal of Pleasantville Elementary School, was in one corner, wearing a giant yellow Buttigieg precinct-captain button. Precinct captains are designated by the campaigns to help sway supporters during the multiple rounds of voting that a caucus entails. “There’s probably a lot of people who have already sort of made their No. 1 choice, but I hope that Pete is maybe No. 2 or No. 3,” Roff said. Over in the Sanders section, a mother and daughter, Denese and Avery Robbins, were sitting patiently. “I believe the two-party system is broken,” Denese said. Sanders, she felt, was the most honest candidate, but Buttigieg and Klobuchar were her second and third choices, respectively. “Anybody but Biden,” she said. Across the room, Pam Jordan, Warren’s precinct captain, was attending her first-ever caucus. “I see some people in the Klobuchar camp that I think I can entice over here,” she said. By the uncommitteds, a Sanders volunteer was trying to make a last-minute convert of a white-haired man. “This little ‘Not Me, Us’ phrase is very special,” she said. She handed the man a Sanders sticker. “I will leave you with this. You can do what you want with it.”
A little after 7 p.m., the doors were closed, and the event got under way. People present who weren’t caucusgoers—children, reporters, a few campaign organizers—were instructed to sit in the balcony. Russell, the caucus secretary, took an initial head count: a hundred and fifty-two caucusgoers were present. Twelve delegates to Iowa’s county convention were at stake in the room. To be considered viable after the first round of voting, Turnage and Russell declared, a candidate would need twenty-three supporters in his or her section. Before the first round, supporters of each candidate would get to make a one-minute speech in support of their choice. The speeches would be given in alphabetical order by candidates’ last names. “I don’t think anybody is here for Michael Bennet, so I don’t think we’ll hear from Michael Bennet,” Turnage said.
After the speeches, it was time for the first alignment. Turnage explained the complicated steps that awaited the caucusgoers. They were each to take a two-sided card, on which they would write their candidate preference, depending on who was viable after the first round. She rang a bell and commenced the first round. A young Warren organizer looked on nervously from the balcony. Her name was Sophia Blake; she was twenty years old and a student at Northwestern. She was wearing earrings with pendants shaped like little Elizabeth Warrens. She had interned for the Warren campaign over the summer and had returned in the campaign’s closing days to see the caucuses through. It was obvious from the balcony, though, that there were more people in the Biden, Buttigieg, and Sanders sections than there were in the Warren section. “I have faith in the team that we built on the ground, and, obviously, this is one caucus out of many,” Blake said, looking out at the room. “I was talking to some undecideds. I’m really hoping we can pull through.”
A little after 8 p.m., the first alignment was declared over. Russell went around counting off caucusgoers. Buttigieg had a commanding lead, with forty-four supporters. Biden and Sanders were also viable. Klobuchar, with twenty-one supporters, failed to reach viability by two votes. People groaned. Yang, Steyer, and Warren were also not viable. Turnage explained the next steps of the second alignment: supporters of viable candidates were to stay put. The supporters of all non-viable candidates were now free to change their support to one of the viable groups, whose members were also free to persuade and cajole. People got up from their chairs and mingled. Democratic speed-dating. The Buttigieg section was suddenly very crowded. The Warren section was a ghost town. In the balcony, Blake was staring at her phone, holding back tears. “I’m getting texts from people in other precincts, and there’s others who are doing very, very well, so that’s very reassuring,” she said. “But I’m keeping it together. Well, not really. But I’m trying.”
After fifteen minutes or so, the second alignment was over. Russell did another count. The final result: Buttigieg won the night, with fifty-eight supporters. Biden and Sanders tied for second place, at thirty-one. And Klobuchar came back from non-viability, ending the night with twenty-nine supporters. One lone guy in a baseball cap stayed in the uncommitted chairs, staring out at the room blankly. The Buttigieg camp was exhilarated. Courtney Fleming, who will turn eighteen in April, had come into the room undecided and went over to the Buttigieg group on the second alignment. “I’m not bashing on age, definitely not, because older men and women can definitely get the job done,” she said. “I just like him, and I think he’s more of a moderate.”
The complications weren’t over. Russell explained the formula used to determine how many state delegates each viable candidate would receive. “The way we get to the delegates is that we will take the number of who is affiliated right now, times twelve, which is the number of delegates we have, and then we will divide that by one fifty-two,” he said. Buttigieg would receive five delegates. Klobuchar would receive two delegates. But, here, another twist: Biden and Sanders were tied, so the remaining five delegates would be divided based on the result of the ancient democratic practice of a coin toss. Sanders’s and Biden’s groups sent representatives to the center table. The coin went up. Sanders won three delegates, to Biden’s two.
The caucus was over, but the drama wasn’t. All around the state, precincts were having trouble reporting their results to the Iowa Democratic Party. Pleasantville was no exception. The app that had been built for precincts to convey their results wasn’t working. “Everyone was having trouble with the app, and then everybody had to call in, and then the phones went down,” Russell said. He spent sixty-seven minutes and forty-seven seconds on hold with the state Party, only to be told to text in a photograph of the precinct’s results. Hours after the caucus ended, things still weren’t sorted. No one knew more than what they saw in front of them, or in bits and pieces on Twitter. The campaigns were racing to respond and put the best spin on things. Buttigieg did well in Pleasantville, but how did he do in Spencer, or Fort Dodge? “Pretty much a big mess,” Russell said. “I’m really concerned that we’re putting our first-in-the-nation status in jeopardy.” Earlier in the night, he’d settled a Presidential contest by a coin flip, but things were looking even weirder now.


newyorker--2020-02-04--Brittany Smith Loses Her Stand Your Ground Hearing

In the January 20 , 2020 , issue of The New Yorker , I wrote about Brittany Smith , a woman from Stevenson , Alabama , who , in January , 2018 , shot and killed a man who she said had raped her , threatened her life in her home , and then attacked her brother after he arrived to help .
The man , Todd Smith , who had recently sold Brittany a puppy , had been drinking , and had taken large amounts of methamphetamine .
Yet within forty-eight hours of the shooting , Brittany was charged @ @ @ @ @ @ @ spend about four months in jail and six months in a mental institution , despite early attention to her case from the criminal-justice publication the Appeal .
On January 14th and 15th , after my piece was published , Brittany finally had a Stand Your Ground hearing .
Stand Your Ground is a statute that makes it legal to use lethal force to defend oneself against threats or perceived threats , with no duty to retreat .
If Brittany won the hearing , she ’ d receive immunity from further prosecution .
On @ @ @ @ @ @ @ She faces life in prison .
In a nineteen-page ruling , Judge Jenifer Holt wrote that Brittany ’ s use of deadly force was not demonstrably justified because she doubted that Brittany had reason to believe that Todd was about to use deadly physical force , assault , burglary , rape , or sodomy when she shot him .
The judge wrote this despite the fact that Todd had already assaulted Brittany—a rape-kit evaluation found thirty-three wounds on her body—and despite the fact that Brittany said Todd had been choking her brother when @ @ @ @ @ @ @ her home , in Stevenson , on Monday , Brittany told me that she was distressed but trying to remain hopeful .
“ I was prepared for a no , but I just feel like I ’ m not gon na get a fair trial here , ” she said , and began to cry .
“ She saw the pictures of me ; he almost beat me to death , he did rape me , and he tried to kill my brother , so how can she say this ?
” The @ @ @ @ @ @ @ held in the Jackson County Courthouse in Scottsboro , Alabama—a county with more than double the state average of aggravated assaults per capita—began with testimony from Jeanine Suermann , a sexual-assault nurse examiner who saw Brittany the morning after the shooting .
Suermann testified that Brittany ’ s wounds were consistent with having been bitten , strangled with two hands around her neck , and assaulted with “ a lot of force.
” The nurse listed bruises to Brittany ’ s neck , breasts , arms , legs , and head , and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ can indicate the use of extreme pressure—that dotted Brittany ’ s hairline and neck .
“ She was probably hit multiple times and held down , ” Suermann said .
She testified that , during the examination , Brittany had described waking up “ with no clothes in a puddle of urine ” after having tried to fight back .
“ Scratched him everywhere I could , ” Brittany told Suermann .
“ He was going to kill me.
” At the conclusion of Suermann ’ s testimony , which lasted for more @ @ @ @ @ @ @ photographs of Brittany ’ s injuries , Jeff Poe , Todd ’ s cousin , left the courthouse with tears in his eyes .
Poe had told me that , after Todd ’ s death , he ’ d considered having Brittany killed .
But , after listening to the nurse ’ s testimony , Poe messaged me asking me to convey his apologies to Brittany and her family “ for all this mess they have been through.
” “ It put me in a sick state of mind listening to all that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ I ’ m sorry from the bottom of my heart.
” Yet Jason Pierce , the Jackson County District Attorney , attempted throughout the two-day hearing to cast doubt on whether Brittany had actually been raped , because there was no definitive sample of Todd ’ s semen , which the nurse examiner said is common in sexual-assault cases .
The judge cited this detail in her decision , saying that she did not believe the evidence was consistent with a sexual assault .
She also cited a 911 call in which Brittany @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ; Brittany told me that she had been ashamed to admit it .
In the hearing , Pierce questioned whether Brittany had truly feared for her life .
At one point , the District Attorney noted that Todd had not had a gun or a knife on him .
“ But he had his hands .
His penis .
His mouth , ” Brittany replied at the hearing , with controlled frustration .
“ You saw the thirty-three wounds on my body.
” Brittany and her brother , Chris McCallie , originally told @ @ @ @ @ @ @ both believed that a woman would not get a fair trial in Jackson County , a place where advocates say that women ’ s complaints of violence are often ignored by police .
In her ruling , the judge wrote that her decision was influenced by the fact that Brittany had given “ inconsistent accounts of the events surrounding Todd ’ s death.
” But Chris argued that , if law enforcement had known that it was Brittany who fired the gun , she would not have been taken for a rape-kit examination @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in court , with the exam ’ s findings and the photos of Brittany ’ s injuries splashed across a TV screen , it was clear that documentation of the violence wasn ’ t enough .
The court also had the opportunity to see a note that Brittany had frantically slipped to a gas-station worker the night of the assault .
The employee testified that Brittany came in “ very nervous and edgy , ” with a reddened neck and a broken nail , wrote down the name “ Todd Smith , ” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and beaten her and was holding her hostage .
In her ruling , the judge argued that Brittany had had multiple opportunities to call law enforcement for help .
But the employee said that Brittany was afraid to call the police , because Todd had said that he would retaliate if she did .
McCallie arrived at Brittany ’ s house not long after , with his .22-calibre revolver .
He said that Todd got him in a headlock and would not let go .
Brittany said that Todd threatened to kill them @ @ @ @ @ @ @ shots at him .
She said that she kept shooting after the first shot because “ nothing happened.
” A scientist at the Alabama Department of Forensic Services gave credence to this account , testifying that Todd had been on an “ extremely high ” amount of methamphetamine , which could cause someone to appear unaffected by blows or strikes .
Throughout the hearing , Brittany often sat silently with her eyes closed .
She wore her hair tied in a single side braid , “ like Katniss , ” she told me @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ The Hunger Games.
” Before entering the courtroom on the second day , January 15th , Brittany read aloud to me from a book of daily wisdom inspired by collected Bible verses .
“ You are surrounded by a sea of problems , ” the entry for that day read .
“ The future is a phantom , seeking to spook you.
” She vowed not to be spooked .
On the stand that day , Brittany tried to tell the court that if she did not remember every detail it was @ @ @ @ @ @ @ memory loss was a symptom of P.T.S.D .
The nurse had testified that the trauma of sexual assault could last “ for years.
” But , when Brittany attempted to explain its effects on her , Pierce interrupted , objecting to her comments as “ offhand .
”

In the January 20, 2020, issue of The New Yorker, I wrote about Brittany Smith, a woman from Stevenson, Alabama, who, in January, 2018, shot and killed a man who she said had raped her, threatened her life in her home, and then attacked her brother after he arrived to help. The man, Todd Smith, who had recently sold Brittany a puppy, had been drinking, and had taken large amounts of methamphetamine. Yet within forty-eight hours of the shooting, Brittany was charged with murder. She went on to spend about four months in jail and six months in a mental institution, despite early attention to her case from the criminal-justice publication the Appeal. On January 14th and 15th, after my piece was published, Brittany finally had a Stand Your Ground hearing. Stand Your Ground is a statute that makes it legal to use lethal force to defend oneself against threats or perceived threats, with no duty to retreat. If Brittany won the hearing, she’d receive immunity from further prosecution. On Monday, she lost that hearing. She faces life in prison.
In a nineteen-page ruling, Judge Jenifer Holt wrote that Brittany’s use of deadly force was not demonstrably justified because she doubted that Brittany had reason to believe that Todd was about to use deadly physical force, assault, burglary, rape, or sodomy when she shot him. The judge wrote this despite the fact that Todd had already assaulted Brittany—a rape-kit evaluation found thirty-three wounds on her body—and despite the fact that Brittany said Todd had been choking her brother when she fired the gun.
Speaking from her home, in Stevenson, on Monday, Brittany told me that she was distressed but trying to remain hopeful. “I was prepared for a no, but I just feel like I’m not gonna get a fair trial here,” she said, and began to cry. “She saw the pictures of me; he almost beat me to death, he did rape me, and he tried to kill my brother, so how can she say this?”
The Stand Your Ground hearing, which was held in the Jackson County Courthouse in Scottsboro, Alabama—a county with more than double the state average of aggravated assaults per capita—began with testimony from Jeanine Suermann, a sexual-assault nurse examiner who saw Brittany the morning after the shooting. Suermann testified that Brittany’s wounds were consistent with having been bitten, strangled with two hands around her neck, and assaulted with “a lot of force.” The nurse listed bruises to Brittany’s neck, breasts, arms, legs, and head, and spoke repeatedly about the petechiae—discolored patches that can indicate the use of extreme pressure—that dotted Brittany’s hairline and neck. “She was probably hit multiple times and held down,” Suermann said. She testified that, during the examination, Brittany had described waking up “with no clothes in a puddle of urine” after having tried to fight back. “Scratched him everywhere I could,” Brittany told Suermann. “He was going to kill me.” At the conclusion of Suermann’s testimony, which lasted for more than two hours and included dozens of photographs of Brittany’s injuries, Jeff Poe, Todd’s cousin, left the courthouse with tears in his eyes. Poe had told me that, after Todd’s death, he’d considered having Brittany killed. But, after listening to the nurse’s testimony, Poe messaged me asking me to convey his apologies to Brittany and her family “for all this mess they have been through.” “It put me in a sick state of mind listening to all that today,” he wrote. “I’m sorry from the bottom of my heart.”
Yet Jason Pierce, the Jackson County District Attorney, attempted throughout the two-day hearing to cast doubt on whether Brittany had actually been raped, because there was no definitive sample of Todd’s semen, which the nurse examiner said is common in sexual-assault cases. The judge cited this detail in her decision, saying that she did not believe the evidence was consistent with a sexual assault. She also cited a 911 call in which Brittany said that she had not been raped; Brittany told me that she had been ashamed to admit it. In the hearing, Pierce questioned whether Brittany had truly feared for her life. At one point, the District Attorney noted that Todd had not had a gun or a knife on him. “But he had his hands. His penis. His mouth,” Brittany replied at the hearing, with controlled frustration. “You saw the thirty-three wounds on my body.”
Brittany and her brother, Chris McCallie, originally told police that McCallie had shot Todd; both believed that a woman would not get a fair trial in Jackson County, a place where advocates say that women’s complaints of violence are often ignored by police. In her ruling, the judge wrote that her decision was influenced by the fact that Brittany had given “inconsistent accounts of the events surrounding Todd’s death.” But Chris argued that, if law enforcement had known that it was Brittany who fired the gun, she would not have been taken for a rape-kit examination until it was too late. Even in court, with the exam’s findings and the photos of Brittany’s injuries splashed across a TV screen, it was clear that documentation of the violence wasn’t enough.
The court also had the opportunity to see a note that Brittany had frantically slipped to a gas-station worker the night of the assault. The employee testified that Brittany came in “very nervous and edgy,” with a reddened neck and a broken nail, wrote down the name “Todd Smith,” and said that he’d raped and beaten her and was holding her hostage. In her ruling, the judge argued that Brittany had had multiple opportunities to call law enforcement for help. But the employee said that Brittany was afraid to call the police, because Todd had said that he would retaliate if she did. McCallie arrived at Brittany’s house not long after, with his .22-calibre revolver. He said that Todd got him in a headlock and would not let go. Brittany said that Todd threatened to kill them both, and so she fired three shots at him. She said that she kept shooting after the first shot because “nothing happened.” A scientist at the Alabama Department of Forensic Services gave credence to this account, testifying that Todd had been on an “extremely high” amount of methamphetamine, which could cause someone to appear unaffected by blows or strikes.
Throughout the hearing, Brittany often sat silently with her eyes closed. She wore her hair tied in a single side braid, “like Katniss,” she told me, referring to the spiky protagonist of “The Hunger Games.” Before entering the courtroom on the second day, January 15th, Brittany read aloud to me from a book of daily wisdom inspired by collected Bible verses. “You are surrounded by a sea of problems,” the entry for that day read. “The future is a phantom, seeking to spook you.” She vowed not to be spooked. On the stand that day, Brittany tried to tell the court that if she did not remember every detail it was in part because she had learned that memory loss was a symptom of P.T.S.D. The nurse had testified that the trauma of sexual assault could last “for years.” But, when Brittany attempted to explain its effects on her, Pierce interrupted, objecting to her comments as “offhand.”
Brittany’s defense also attempted to call witnesses to testify about Todd’s violent history, which included some eighty arrests, at least half a dozen of which were for domestic violence, against multiple women. (Todd’s ex-wife, Paige Parker, told a radio host in 2019 that she was “beaten and raped and sodomized for years” by Todd in the early two-thousands, before she got an order of protection.) But this, too, was unsuccessful. One of the witnesses, a woman who had worked as a dispatcher for the Stevenson Police Department, testified that, in 2009, Todd had shoved her against a desk in her office and tried to tear off her shirt. “If someone hadn’t come in, I believe it would have gotten pretty bad,” she said. A second witness, a man who grew up with Todd, began to tell the court of the bruises he’d seen on women he believed Todd had hit, before Pierce, the D.A., cut him off. When it was Pierce’s turn to question him, he asked the man, “What’s your necklace?” The man replied, “I’m into witchcraft,” and then paused, flustered. “I don’t see how that’s relevant, my religion.” The D.A. had no further questions. Both testimonies were ultimately thrown out, after Pierce argued that bad-character evidence was not admissible.
In his closing argument, Brittany’s lawyer, Ron Smith, asserted that Brittany’s actions were clear self-defense. “She believed Todd Smith was going to cause serious injury to herself or her brother,” her lawyer said. “He was told to leave. He did not leave. He unlawfully remained.” In Alabama, he contended, unlawfully remaining is the very definition of burglary. If sexual assault would not convince the judge that Todd had been a threat, it seemed, perhaps an argument of burglary would. It did not.


newyorker--2020-02-03--Iowa Democratic Caucus: Live Results, Maps, and Analysis

© Do Not Sell My Personal Information may earn a portion of sales from products that are purchased through our @ @ @ @ @ Affiliate Partnerships with retailers .
The material on this site may not be reproduced , @ @ @ @ @ or otherwise used , except with the prior written permission of Condé Nast .

The state’s Presidential caucus is February 3rd. The congressional primary is June 2nd. Follow the latest results ahead of the 2020 Presidential election.