Category: Analysis

Source: The Conversation – USA – By Claire Oberon Garcia, Professor of English, Colorado College

For the past eight years, the Colorado Springs City Council has issued proclamations and recognitions paying homage to the achievements of its African American citizens.

In 2005, the Colorado Springs City Council and Mayor Yemi Mobolade jointly issued a Black History Month proclamation.

This year, the mayor’s office issued its own statement alluding to Mobolade’s identity as the city’s first Black and first immigrant mayor. It also praises the positive effects of past and present African American achievement in Colorado Springs.

The City Council was slower to act, finally succumbing to pressure to approve their own proclamation two weeks later.

Why did a routine symbolic gesture — one performed by public and private institutions across the nation — become questionable in Colorado Springs?

I’m a Black Studies scholar. I’ve been personally and professionally affected over the years by the changing attitudes and policies surrounding the preservation and sharing of African American history.

Currently, I serve on the State Historian’s Council with History Colorado. I also sit on the Black Coloradan Racial Equity Study Committee, which oversees research required by SB-24-053. This bill seeks to examine how state and local policies in areas such as education, health, housing, the criminal justice system and business have affected Black Coloradans past and present.

I wondered if this local controversy was symptomatic of recent pressure from the current White House administration to erase, misrepresent or repurpose the experiences of Black Americans. What I found behind the controversy is more complicated.

The Colorado Springs City Council controversy

The controversy was sparked when City Councilman Dave Donelson walked out of the City Council meeting. He did so after several local faith leaders made critical comments about Immigration and Customs Enforcement actions across the country on Martin Luther King Jr. Day.

Rev. Josh Rumple, who leads the First Congregational Church in Colorado Springs, was one of the speakers. He said King’s messages have been whitewashed over time to appease people who disagree with him, according to public radio station KRCC.

Donelson refused to participate in the rest of the proclamation program because he was “offended” by criticism of ICE. “I find what was said here offensive” he said.

Angela Stevens, president of the Colorado Springs chapter of the NAACP, the nation’s oldest civil rights organization, was angry that the proclamation could not get enough support at that meeting.

“We see you as a body playing it safe,” she said. She added that the inaction of City Council was part of a “national pattern of de-emphasizing Black history.”

Rev. Candace Woods organized the anti-ICE comments at the meeting. She saw the comments as consistent with King’s values and constitutional issues regarding civil rights. “I don’t know how you cannot see the connections,” she said. “Dr. King called us to stand up for our neighbors in the face of incorrect, immoral laws.”

Local opinion columnist Rachel Stovall regarded the protest as “hijacking” a “special moment.” She believes that the protest drew attention away from Black history.

She claims: “There is a difference between principled protest that seeks to highlight injustice and disruptive antics that undermine the very institutions meant to serve the community. The line between the two is always clear.” However, the tactics of the civil rights protests of the 1960s often received the same criticism.

For me, this local controversy highlights a central question: What is the meaning of Black history to broader communities? What good is sharing knowledge about what African Americans have accomplished against the odds?

Colorado’s Black history

Living in a state where Black people have been a small minority with only a few concentrations in a handful of cities and towns, Black history at first glance may seem a simple acknowledgment of barrier-breakers and proof that democratic values — though won with much suffering and blood — can ultimately come to fruition.

Taking the time to learn more about the different perspectives expressed by this seemingly simple action by Colorado Springs City Council reminded me to think about the history of Black Coloradans with more nuance.

This year, as the United States marks its 250th birthday, Colorado is marking 150 years as the “Centennial State.”

The Centennial State’s birthday programming and activities, such as the America 250 – Colorado 150 Commission, offer an opportunity to examine how Colorado’s Black history relates to other debates about freedom, harm, rights and social justice.

One of the commission’s goals for Colorado’s birthday year is to create and share a more inclusive history of the state through the Heritage for All program. The program will add 150 new historic signs and markers representing the histories of usually underrepresented groups.

Phillip Gover III of History Colorado took on legislatively mandated work to research and assess the harm done by Indian boarding schools in Colorado. He has asserted that the most fundamental question of the project is to clarify “who owns the story” of minority communities’ oppression and resistance.

A story about all of us

Knowledge must be centered on the affected groups’ experiences, perspectives and histories, but these are shaped by and entangled with larger stories and conflicting perspectives. Ultimately, these stories are about all of us, not just the oppressed groups.

Colorado’s own Black history is full of examples of the influence of Black Coloradans in making the state what it is today in ways that are more interesting than simple narratives of oppression and triumph. The stories are as individual as the people and the Colorado communities that experienced them.

Consider the case of Black frontiersman John Taylor, who was dubbed “the first white man in Pine River Valley.” A formerly enslaved man who served in the Union Army, Taylor settled in the Ute Borderlands, which is where he married an Indigenous woman. According to the scholar Louis Gregory McAllister, in this area of southern Colorado at the time, the only racial categories were “white” or “Indian,” so Taylor was accepted and treated as white by both communities.

The Buffalo Soldiers were among the first African Americans to have their stories included in Colorado history. They have been honored as heroes for their military service at Fort Garland and as proof of Black presence in the familiar mythologizing of Western expansion. Established in 1866, they were commissioned to patrol federal lands.

Recent scholarship has complicated the heroic picture, showing how they were underpaid and mistreated by the army they served. They themselves played a troubling role in the suppression and inhumane treatment of Colorado’s Native peoples.

An anniversary reckoning

So what does Black Colorado history have to say to all Coloradans – and the nation?

Increasing our knowledge of Colorado’s Black history involves confronting complicated truths, dismantling easy binaries between the oppressors and the oppressed, and understanding how the experiences and suffering of particular communities are meaningful to us all.

Coloradans can celebrate hard-won achievements and contributions to the betterment of Colorado society, but we must also acknowledge and commemorate the inhumane, shameful and ambiguous parts of our shared stories.

Is Black Colorado history useful for recognizing and addressing current injustices and what some see as similar moral dilemmas? Or is the recognition of Black History Month more appropriately seen as a “thank you” card from institutions and organizations?

Claire Oberon Garcia does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. Honoring Colorado’s Black History requires taking the time to tell stories that make us think twice – https://theconversation.com/honoring-colorados-black-history-requires-taking-the-time-to-tell-stories-that-make-us-think-twice-273686

Source: The Conversation – USA – By Stephanie Lessing, Adjunct Professor of Public Policy, UMass Boston

Amid growing demands by Democrats to overhaul U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement after federal immigration officials killed two U.S. citizens in Minnesota, Secretary of Homeland Security Kristi Noem said in early February 2026 that agents in Minneapolis will be issued body-worn cameras.

But can body cameras on federal officials provide the transparency and accountability the public is demanding from agents with ICE and U.S. Customs and Border Protection?

As a public policy scholar, I have analyzed the existing body-worn camera policy for ICE agents. And I’ve compared this policy to dozens of other state and local body camera policies, in an effort to investigate the rationales for their use.

Whether ICE’s body camera policy can provide transparency and accountability depends, I believe, on the policy itself and the enforcement of that policy. ICE’s use of body cameras could improve the agency’s legitimacy in the eyes of the public.

But as I’ve seen with other police body camera policies, there’s a risk that camera footage may obscure actual events. It’s also possible that the strategic release of footage may undermine transparency.

Various body camera policies

Police body cameras were first used in the United States in 2012 by the Rialto Police Department in California. By 2020, their use had expanded to over 62% of local law enforcement agencies, covering 79% of local police officers nationwide.

That expansion was, in part, a response to growing criticism over stop-and-frisk tactics – in which police temporarily detain people for weapons searches when a crime is suspected – and police-involved shootings of people of color.

Body camera policies vary greatly between municipalities. Some policies make body cameras useful accountability tools, like those of Parker, Colorado, which uses cameras for evidence collection and ensuring officer adherence to policy rather than as surveillance technology.

Others, meanwhile, provide broad discretion for officers to choose when to activate their body cameras, such as Colorado Springs’ policy. Allowing officers to decide when to use their cameras can limit the availability of evidence.

I believe there are four crucial elements of a body camera policy that can ensure that ICE agents properly use the technology.

Activation requirements

Body camera quality has improved over the past decade. But the battery life of many models prevents continuous recording throughout a 10-hour shift.

Instead, law enforcement officials often manually activate their body cameras. Thus, to effectively promote accountability, a strong policy would require ICE agents to activate their body cameras before they interact with the public.

A 2016 study found that, without mandatory camera-activation policies, officers often fail to activate their cameras.

The current ICE body-worn camera policy, issued in February 2025, lists enforcement activities that require recording. They include executing arrest warrants, frisks of individuals and “responding to public, unlawful/violent disturbances at ICE facilities.”

But the list does not include mandatory activation during vehicle pursuits or the transportation of people to detention facilities. Recording inside detention facilities is strictly prohibited by the policy.

Deactivation requirements

As proposed by the Police Executive Research Forum, a nonprofit that promotes policing professionalism, body cameras must continue to record until an encounter with a member of the public has concluded and agents have left the scene.

The current ICE body-worn camera policy states that agents “should only deactivate the BWC when the scene is secure as determined by the supervisor or team leader.”

While robust policies, such as that of the Chicago Police Department, require continued recording during the transportation of detained people, the ICE body camera policy does not. This creates the potential for critical moments to go unrecorded.

Facial recognition

Many body camera models come equipped with facial recognition technology. But many local police department policies prohibit its use due to privacy and surveillance concerns.

ICE uses facial recognition technology during immigration enforcement operations, but in 2020 lawmakers raised concerns that body camera facial recognition could dissuade citizens from protesting out of fear of retribution.

As protests against ICE immigration enforcement continue, it’s known that the agency uses facial recognition technology on peaceful protesters and observers. Existing ICE policy prevents the use of facial recognition on “live BWC recordings,” meaning while the interaction is taking place. Facial recognition is permitted on body camera footage after the interaction has concluded.

In early February 2026, Democratic lawmakers introduced a measure that would prohibit the use of facial recognition by ICE and CBP agents. That ban would extend to facial recognition features on body cameras.

Policy compliance

Policy is only as strong as its enforcement.

Policymakers could consider strengthening submission forms for ICE use-of-force and civil rights violation complaints.

Thorough investigation of complaints and reviews of body camera footage could be handled by an external review board. The Office of the Inspector General, responsible for investigating allegations of excessive force by ICE agents, could also conduct reviews.

Body cameras will not deter violence committed by ICE agents unless policies clearly dictate their use. For body cameras to function as transparency and accountability tools, I believe wrongdoing would have to be swiftly and consistently penalized. This would highlight the consequences of noncompliance with body-worn camera policies.

Stephanie Lessing does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. Why ICE’s body camera policies make the videos unlikely to improve accountability and transparency – https://theconversation.com/why-ices-body-camera-policies-make-the-videos-unlikely-to-improve-accountability-and-transparency-275302

Source: The Conversation – USA – By Aniko Bodroghkozy, Professor of Media Studies, University of Virginia

Renee Good and Alex Pretti, two white Minneapolis residents killed in January 2026 by federal agents while protesting the Trump administration’s immigration policy, have become household names. National media outlets continue to focus on their deaths and the circumstances around them.

Neither of them was the first person to be shot and killed by immigration enforcement officials over the past year. There have been numerous shootings and some deaths.

In September 2025, Silverio Villegas González was killed in Chicago under circumstances similar to Good’s death. Ruben Ray Martinez was shot multiple times by Immigration and Customs Enforcement agents in Texas in March 2025, but their involvement was not revealed until nearly a year later. Neither Martinez nor Villegas González has become a household name, and their deadly encounters with federal agents have not drawn nearly the same level of media attention as Good’s or Pretti’s.

As a media historian, I’ve been struck by the similarities between the media’s coverage of Minneapolis and its coverage of Selma, Alabama, in 1965, when voting rights protests led to violence that left three people dead, including two white victims.

I’ve written about the Selma campaign, as well as the media’s treatment of white female activists killed during racial justice protests, in my books “Equal Time: Television and the Civil Rights Movement” and “Making #Charlottesville: Media from Civil Rights to Unite the Right.”

These two events reveal that the deaths of white activists often draw and sustain far more attention than the deaths of Black or Latino people in similar contexts. But the Selma and Minneapolis events also show that male and female white activist victims aren’t necessarily treated the same way.

Remembering Selma

Video footage of law enforcement beating and gassing marchers on Selma’s Edmund Pettus Bridge remains an iconic visual document of the Civil Rights Movement. John Lewis, who later became a congressman, was an activist at the head of the march on March 7, 1965, and was beaten in the head at the base of the bridge by Alabama state troopers. But he was not a household name in 1965, and media coverage at the time did not identify him.

Reporters also didn’t pay much attention to what had motivated the march: the killing of Black voting rights activist Jimmie Lee Jackson by an Alabama state trooper during a nighttime march a week earlier.

Still, the prime-time television broadcast of footage from “Bloody Sunday” at the Pettus Bridge shocked Americans, just as footage from Minneapolis has similarly distressed and disturbed many people today.

In 1965, a small number of white Americans from around the country, including numerous members of the clergy, descended on Selma to stand with the brutalized voting rights activists. They included James Reeb, a Unitarian minister from Massachusetts, and Viola Liuzzo, a wife and mother of five from Michigan.

Reeb, following a second aborted march across the Pettus Bridge two days after Bloody Sunday, was viciously beaten by a group of white racists and left lying on the ground, mortally wounded. His beating and subsequent death received plentiful media attention.

President Lyndon B. Johnson contacted Reeb’s widow. She gave media interviews about her husband. Johnson also extolled Reeb at the beginning of his joint address to Congress calling for robust voting rights legislation, four days after Reeb’s death. Johnson never mentioned Jackson’s death.

Liuzzo was ferrying people back to Selma from Montgomery on March 25 after the conclusion of the final, successful march to the state capital when a carload of Ku Klux Klansmen, one an FBI informant, chased her down and shot her through her car window. Her death received even more coverage than Reeb’s, keeping Selma in the news.

The Voting Rights Act passed five months later.

Smearing the victim

So how does coverage of Reeb and Liuzzo echo the portrayals of Pretti and Good? And why does it matter?

Initial media treatment of Liuzzo focused on her status as a wife and mother. She was characterized as brave, putting the rights of others above her own. “Mrs. Liuzzo ‘Felt She Had to Help,’” was the headline of a New York Times profile.

Good’s status as a devoted mother and wife also characterized initial media reporting following her death. This kind of framing can often shield “nice white ladies,” as scholar Jessie Daniels has termed them, from the derogatory treatment that women of color have often endured in the public arena.

But in both cases, although separated by six decades, condemnation, disparagement and misogyny soon followed. Government officials, commentators and far-right forces framed these women and their activism in darker terms. Liuzzo was smeared by a KKK grand wizard who blamed her for her own death, saying, “If this woman was at home with her children where she belonged she wouldn’t have been in any jeopardy.” Liuzzo was falsely accused of having sexual relations with a Black man, thereby being characterized as a traitor to the white race.

This kind of racist vitriol might have stayed on the fringes, but FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover amplified the stories, while a Detroit police officer’s file on Liuzzo, which included highly personal information and speculation about her mental health, was shared with segregationist Sheriff Jim Clark of Selma.

The material ended up in The New York Times, and Liuzzo’s posthumous reputation was marred. When Ladies’ Home Journal polled its readers about Liuzzo, 55% responded that she should have stayed home with her children.

Echoes of the past

Official government and law enforcement responses to Good’s death echo the Liuzzo case; in fact, the responses have arguably been magnified. Vice President JD Vance blamed Good for her own death, claiming it was a “tragedy of her own making.” President Donald Trump characterized her as “disorderly” and vicious. Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem and other administration officials labeled Good a domestic terrorist.

This attempt to influence the media’s framing of Renee Good clearly had an impact, since much of the early media coverage focused on questions about her actions and motives, with the New York Post derisively labeling her an “‘ICE Watch’ ‘warrior’ who trained to resist feds before shooting,” before attention shifted to Pretti’s killing.

Good, like Liuzzo, was also derided as a race traitor, somehow betraying white Americans by supporting nonwhites. Podcaster Matt Walsh disparaged her for giving her life “to protect 68 IQ Somali scammers,” a smear that made its way into mainstream media, including its appearance in an opinion piece by The New York Times’ columnist David French that criticized inflammatory MAGA rhetoric.

Walsh and other right-wing commentators, along with comedian Ben Bankas, underscored Good’s sexuality to further demean her.

It’s different for men

Men have been treated differently in both press coverage and political response. Reeb, a father of four, never faced the level of condemnation heaped on Liuzzo. Southern white segregationists certainly questioned the motives of the many clergy members who descended on Selma. Those sentiments, however, did not circulate much outside of segregationist press. Reeb’s status as a minister, along with being a white man, may have shielded his reputation.

Here’s where there are some similarities to the response to Pretti’s death. Initially, Trump administration officials brought out the same playbook they’d used with Good. Noem and Stephen Miller, the White House homeland security adviser, called Pretti a domestic terrorist. Greg Bovino, the leader of Operation Metro Surge in Minneapolis, along with a Homeland Security spokeswoman, claimed Pretti intended to “massacre law enforcement.”

Such charges quickly unraveled as media outlets questioned them. It helped that the video footage of Pretti’s killing was clearer than that of Good’s.

Like Good, Pretti became the target of vitriol in far-right media platforms. But little of that has gotten much purchase in mainstream media, just as the segregationist contempt for activist clergy members in Selma was not amplified.

Pretti’s status as a licensed gun owner who was exercising his Second Amendment right to bear arms, as well as his First Amendment rights to protest, may also have assisted his posthumous reputation. Right-wing critics who condemned a lesbian who was not adhering to a set of standards regarding femininity had a much harder time condemning a man licensed to carry a gun.

Liuzzo, Reeb, Good and Pretti all put their bodies on the line and made the ultimate sacrifice on behalf of vulnerable nonwhite people. Liuzzo and Good suffered significant character assassination that their male partners-in-protest avoided.

Whiteness may help bring massive media attention, but being a dead white woman doesn’t necessarily bring respectful treatment. For some, especially those who put their bodies on the line for nonwhite communities, they are just “AWFL,” the current right-wing acronym for “affluent, white, liberal women” who step out of bounds.

Aniko Bodroghkozy does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. When civil rights protesters are killed, some deaths – generally those of white people – resonate more – https://theconversation.com/when-civil-rights-protesters-are-killed-some-deaths-generally-those-of-white-people-resonate-more-273336

Source: The Conversation – USA (2) – By Mike Shriberg, Professor of Practice & Engagement, School for Environment & Sustainability; Director of the University of Michigan Water Center, University of Michigan

What began as a straightforward question from one water-quality advocate has morphed into a high-stakes battle over an oil pipeline at the highest levels of the U.S. government – with implications that go far beyond the fate of a technical legal conflict.

The question arose after a 2010 Enbridge Energy oil spill in Michigan. The advocate asked what other Michigan waterways were at risk from crude oil spills. But in the wake of, among other issues, two ships doing damage to an underwater section of another Enbridge oil pipeline, the conflict has now come all the way to the U.S. Supreme Court.

On Feb. 24, 2026, the justices will hear oral arguments and thereafter deliberate about the future of Enbridge Energy’s Line 5 oil pipeline, which runs through Michigan and Wisconsin.

As a water policy scholar with a focus on the Great Lakes, I have participated directly in the Line 5 debate as a gubernatorial appointee to an advisory board, as well as analyzed its implications. I see this moment in the Supreme Court as one layer of a complex debate that Line 5 has stirred up about states’ rights, Indigenous rights and the future of the fossil fuel economy.

Enbridge Energy vs. Dana Nessel

The actual issue in front of the Supreme Court is procedural: In 2019, Michigan Attorney General Dana Nessel sued Enbridge in a Michigan state court, seeking to shut down the pipeline, alleging “violations of the public-trust doctrine, common-law public nuisance, and the Michigan Environmental Protection Act.” Federal law allowed Enbridge to seek to move the case to federal court within 30 days of the initial filing.

Enbridge did not do so, but the Canada-based multinational company has since argued that it still should be allowed to deal with the case in federal court, as it is doing in a similar case brought by Michigan Gov. Gretchen Whitmer in 2020.

The specific question before the Supreme Court is a very technical legal one: Even though Enbridge failed to request the move to federal court in a timely way, should that prevent Enbridge from moving it later?

A sensitive waterway

There is no debate that Line 5’s crossing of the Straits of Mackinac – which separate Michigan’s Upper and Lower Peninsulas right where Lakes Michigan and Huron meet – lies within Michigan’s territorial boundaries.

The lawsuits from Nessel and Whitmer are attempting to stop Enbridge from operating the pipeline in this sensitive area of the Great Lakes.

The risks became clearer to the public when a ship’s anchor struck the underwater pipeline in 2018 and another ship damaged one of the pipe’s supports in 2020. In the 2018 incident, some fluid – not crude oil – leaked into the lake water.

But Enbridge is refusing to shut the pipeline down. The company says the dispute belongs in federal court because state laws and regulations generally do not apply to this pipeline, which carries mostly Canadian oil to mostly Canadian refineries, using Michigan and the Great Lakes as a shortcut. Enbridge maintains that a treaty with Canada supersedes state authority.

The ruling from the Supreme Court will likely be narrow and procedural. However, all parties seem to agree that the decision will also have much wider consequences, including being a key determinant and signal of states’ rights to protect their waterways and other natural resources in the face of industry opposition.

Bad River Band vs. Enbridge Energy

Meanwhile, in Wisconsin, the Line 5 oil pipeline passes through the reservation of the Bad River Band of Lake Superior Chippewa, and the pending legal outcome in a separate federal court case is well beyond procedural.

The band revoked Enbridge’s easement in 2013, but Enbridge has refused to remove the pipeline, so – after years of failed negotiations – the Bad River Band sued in 2019.

U.S. District Judge William Conley ruled in 2023 that Enbridge had been trespassing for 10 years and awarded US$3 million in damage payments. Conley gave Enbridge until June 2026 to find an alternative route around the Bad River Band’s land, or shut the pipeline down.

As this date approaches with no clear resolution in sight, the Trump administration joined Enbridge in seeking to reverse that decision and keep Line 5 open. While Conley’s decision is being contested by both Enbridge and the Bad River Band in an appeals court one level below the U.S. Supreme Court, the status of the pipeline during this legal process is very much in question.

Line 5 cannot operate without the Bad River Band reservation section, but the deeper issue is about Indigenous peoples’ rights to control their own lands and future on reservations. If Enbridge wins, many analysts believe that Indigenous rights to self-determination on reservations will be significantly eroded.

Attempts to reroute

Enbridge has a two-pronged strategy to save Line 5 from decommissioning: fight in the courts against the state of Michigan and the Bad River Band, while simultaneously working to reroute the pipeline around these problematic areas.

In the Straits of Mackinac, that means attempting to put Line 5 in a tunnel underneath Lake Michigan. This requires federal permits – which will likely be issued soon – as well as state permits. The permission issued by the Michigan Public Service Commission to build the tunnel is being challenged in the Michigan Supreme Court, while advocates are pressuring Whitmer not to issue another state permit that is also required.

The situation is similar in Wisconsin, where federal permits for rerouting the pipeline outside the reservation – but not beyond the watershed serving the Bad River Band’s land – were issued in October 2025 by the Trump administration. The state permit is caught up in legal and political challenges.

In each case, the immediate issue is about the direct environmental impacts of the projects. But also in each case, the underlying battle is about the long-term effects of projects involving fossil fuels. Environmental advocates want the state and federal agencies to consider the permits in light of the potential for more climatic, health and environmental damage from burning the oil the pipeline carries. Enbridge and its allies want to focus narrowly on local ecological impacts and not on the larger debate about the future of fossil fuels.

The bigger debate

As the highest court in the land considers what some might see as a very mundane and localized issue, I believe it’s useful to peel back the layers and see deeper meaning. Jeffrey Insko, an American studies professor at Oakland University and tireless chronicler and analyst of the Line 5 saga, summarizes this depth well:

“If shutting down Line 5 were about nothing more than getting an aging pipeline out of the water, if it weren’t about addressing the climate crisis, about reducing fossil fuel consumption, about a habitable future, about cultivating better relations with the more-than-human world, about respecting Indigenous rights and lifeways, it wouldn’t be a movement worth having. It would just be a technical problem with a technical solution, one that basically accepts the way things are. But shutting down Line 5 is ultimately a step toward changing the way things are.”

The Supreme Court’s ruling may be on technical grounds, but its repercussions could be very wide indeed.

Mike Shriberg previously worked at the National Wildlife Federation which received external funding from foundations and private donors to work on issues related to the Line 5 oil pipeline. He currently does not receive any funding relating to the Line 5 oil pipeline.

– ref. Supreme Court’s Michigan pipeline case is about Native rights and fossil fuels, not just technical legal procedure – https://theconversation.com/supreme-courts-michigan-pipeline-case-is-about-native-rights-and-fossil-fuels-not-just-technical-legal-procedure-275889

Source: The Conversation – USA (2) – By Joel Carnevale, Assistant Professor of Management, Florida International University

Generative artificial intelligence has become a routine part of creative work.

Novelists are using it to develop plots. Musicians are experimenting with AI-generated sounds. Filmmakers are incorporating it into their editing process. And when the software company Adobe surveyed more than 2,500 creative professionals across four continents in 2024, it found that roughly 83% reported using AI in their work, with 69% saying it helped them express their creativity more effectively.

The appeal is understandable. Emerging research shows that generative AI can support the creative process and, at times, produce outputs that people prefer to work made by humans alone.

Yet there’s an important caveat that my colleagues and I have recently begun to explore in our research: Positive views of creative work often shift once people learn that AI was involved.

Because generative AI can produce original content with minimal human input, its use raises questions about quality, authorship and authenticity. Especially for creative work closely tied to personal expression and intent, AI involvement can complicate how audiences interpret the final product.

Organizational behavior researchers Anand Benegal, Lynne Vincent and I study how people establish, maintain and defend their reputations, particularly in creative fields.

We wanted to know whether using AI carries a reputational cost – and whether established artists are shielded from the backlash.

No one is immune

When we set out to examine these questions, two competing possibilities emerged.

On one hand, individuals with strong reputations are often granted greater latitude. Their actions are interpreted more favorably and their intentions given the benefit of the doubt. So established artists who use novel technologies like AI may be seen as innovative or forward-thinking, while novices are viewed as dependent or incompetent.

On the other hand, established creators may be held to higher standards. Because their reputations are closely tied to originality and personal expression, AI use can appear inconsistent with that image, inviting greater scrutiny rather than leniency.

To test these competing possibilities, we conducted an experiment in which participants listened to the same short musical composition, which was described as part of an upcoming video game soundtrack.

For the purposes of the experiment, we misled some of the participants by telling them that the piece had been written by Academy Award–winning film composer Hans Zimmer. We told others that it had been created by a first-year college music student.

Across the experimental conditions, some participants were informed that the work was created “in collaboration with AI technology,” while others received no such information. We then measured changes in participants’ perceptions of the creator’s reputation, perceptions of the creator’s competence and how much credit they attributed to the creator versus the AI.

Our results showed that the creator’s existing reputation did not protect them: Both Zimmer’s reputation and that of the novice took a hit when AI involvement was disclosed. For creators considering whether their past success will shield them, our study suggests this might not be the case.

Credit where credit is due?

That said, reputation was not entirely irrelevant – it did shape how evaluators interpreted the creator’s role in the work.

The preexisting reputations of established creators did provide a limited advantage. When we asked participants to indicate how much of the work they attributed to the human creator versus the AI, evaluators were more likely to assume Zimmer had relied less on AI.

In other words, an artist’s prior reputation shaped how people judged authorship, even if it didn’t shield them from reputational damage.

This distinction points to an important implication. The backlash may not stem simply from the presence of AI but from how observers interpret the balance between human contribution and AI assistance.

At what point does collaborating with AI begin to be perceived less like assistance and more like handing over control of the creative process? In other words, when does AI’s role become substantial enough that it is seen as the primary author of the final product?

For instance, a composer might use AI to clean up background noise, adjust timing or suggest alternative harmonies – decisions that refine but do not fundamentally alter their original work. Alternatively, the composer might ask AI to generate multiple melodies, select one they like and make minor adjustments to tempo or instrumentation.

Our study did not vary the degree of AI involvement; participants were told only that AI was used or not mentioned at all.

But the findings suggest that how much AI is used – and how central it appears to the creative process – matters. For creators and organizations, the question may not be whether AI is involved but whether audiences are made aware of the extent of its involvement.

To disclose or not to disclose?

A practical question that naturally follows is whether creators should disclose their AI use.

The New York Times recently reported that some romance novelists were quietly incorporating AI tools into their writing process without disclosing it to readers. This reluctance appears to be widespread: A 2025 workplace survey found that nearly half of employees conceal their use of AI tools, often out of concern that others will view them as cutting corners or question their competence.

Is silence strategically wiser than transparency?

In our first experiment, the composer’s work either mentioned AI collaboration or didn’t mention AI at all.

But we went on to conduct a second experiment to examine disclosure more directly. This time, participants evaluated an employee at an advertising agency.

Everyone first learned that this employee had a strong reputation for creativity. Then, depending on the version of the scenario they saw, the employee either openly said they used AI to help with their creative work; said they used AI only for administrative tasks, such as scheduling meetings; explicitly said they avoided using AI because creativity should come from one’s own thoughts and experiences; or said nothing about AI at all.

This allowed us to see how both using AI and how that use was disclosed influenced judgments of the employee’s creativity and reputation.

The results were clear in one respect: Disclosing AI use harmed the employee’s reputation.

Just as importantly, explicitly stating that AI was not used did not improve evaluations. In other words, there was no reputational advantage to publicly distancing oneself from AI. Staying silent led to evaluations that were at least as favorable as explicitly saying no AI was used.

Our findings suggest that disclosure decisions are asymmetric. For creators who use AI, transparency carries costs. For those who abstain, making clear that they didn’t use AI doesn’t confer an advantage over remaining silent.

Debates over disclosure of AI use in creative fields will continue to be hotly debated. But from a reputational standpoint – at least for now – our findings suggest that disclosing AI use carries costs.

Joel Carnevale does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. Artists and writers are often hesitant to disclose they’ve collaborated with AI – and those fears may be justified – https://theconversation.com/artists-and-writers-are-often-hesitant-to-disclose-theyve-collaborated-with-ai-and-those-fears-may-be-justified-275888

Source: The Conversation – USA (3) – By Jonathan Appelbaum, Professor Emeritus, College of Medicine, Florida State University

More than 128,000 Floridians are living with HIV. The state has the second-highest rate of new HIV diagnoses after Georgia, with approximately 4,500 new diagnoses in 2023, the most recent year for which data is available.

But access to treatment could be in jeopardy if potential budget cuts, announced in January 2026 by the Florida Department of Health, are enacted.

These changes, set to go into effect on March 1, would cut funding for the state’s AIDS Drug Assistance Program, which helps more than 31,000 Floridians with HIV/AIDS afford care.

I am an emeritus professor of medicine and a practicing clinician in the Tallahassee area who specializes in HIV/AIDS treatment. Many of my patients have been treated through this state program over the past 17 years, so I am deeply concerned about threats to its funding.

Funding access to care

Since its creation in 1996, the Florida AIDS Drug Assistance Program has been funded through the Ryan White CARE Act, which Congress passed into law in 1990. The law ensures people with HIV have access to clinical care, housing support, nutrition, case management, and behavioral and substance use care. Most importantly, it guarantees access to medications to treat HIV and its complications.

More than half of those served by the Florida AIDS Drug Assistance Program earn less than US$22,024 per year, which is 138% of the federal poverty level. While researchers can’t say exactly how many lives have been saved by this program, modeling studies have determined that AIDS drug assistance programs across the U.S. are cost-effective.

But the Florida Department of Health says that it is facing a $120 million budget shortfall, and that the federal Ryan White funds are no longer enough to keep the program going without major cuts to services.

Loss of care and insurance

Currently, the program provides access to medication for low-income, HIV-positive Floridians either by directly giving them prescription medications or by paying for insurance coverage for them that includes HIV medications.

The proposed cuts would stiffen the eligibility requirement for the program from earning 400% of the federal poverty level or below, about $88,000 per year, down to 130% or below, about $21,000 per year. This would immediately remove financial support used by about 16,000 patients to access lifesaving medications.

The cuts would also stop program funds from being used to purchase health insurance for eligible patients. The Department of Health has also proposed changing which drugs the program can cover, removing the recommended and most commonly prescribed drug for treating HIV, Biktarvy.

Without access to insurance coverage and medication, these patients face worse health outcomes, and HIV transmission is likely to increase. Ultimately, this would lead to higher health care costs in Florida and more deaths from HIV/AIDS.

Pushing back

AIDS Healthcare Foundation, a national HIV advocacy and provider network, is suing the Florida Department of Health to require that it go through the normal rulemaking process to make changes to the program. Florida statute requires that substantive changes to a program undergo a process of public announcement, followed by a public comment period, before the change is enacted, which did not happen in this case.

An administrative judge has approved an expedited hearing for the lawsuit and will issue a ruling before March 1.

The foundation has also filed a second suit to determine the cause of the Department of Health’s $120 million budget shortfall.

Meanwhile, in the state legislature, both the Florida Senate and House have attempted to include additional funding for the program in their respective budget proposals. But the final budget won’t be voted on until later this March, and Gov. Ron DeSantis has line-item veto authority.

For now, I, along with other health care providers, am scrambling to ensure that patients do not lose access to their medications. We worry that if the drug assistance program is cut, Florida could see a return to the days of increasing HIV-related complications, hospitalizations and deaths.

Read more stories from The Conversation about Florida.

Jonathan Appelbaum does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. Florida’s proposed cuts to AIDS drug program threaten patient care and public health – https://theconversation.com/floridas-proposed-cuts-to-aids-drug-program-threaten-patient-care-and-public-health-276248

Source: The Conversation – USA (3) – By Kristy Nabhan-Warren, Elizabeth Kahl Figge Chair in Catholic Studies, University of Iowa

In Portland, Oregon, people wearing inflatable frog costumes – The Portland Frog Brigade – danced outside immigration offices. In Chicago, parents and neighbors walked children to and from school, forming “magic schoolbuses” for families who feared detention.

Thousands of Americans have taken to the streets since fall 2025 to protest against U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement’s tactics. These public demonstrations include the more familiar-looking protest signs and chanting, as well as other everyday ways of showing solidarity with minority groups being targeted.

The Americans taking part come from many different faith traditions, and none. But this type of solidarity reminds me of “accompaniment,” a concept I study as a scholar of American Catholicism and Roman Catholicism more broadly.

The idea of accompaniment is rooted in modern Catholic social thought. It was first coined by the late Pope Francis in his 2013 Apostolic Exhortation “Evangelii Gaudium,” or “Joy of the Gospel.”

Accompaniment and its history

Apostolic exhortations are letters written by popes that urge Catholics and non-Catholics alike to demonstrate their faith in everyday actions such as caring for neighbors, the poor and the dispossessed. They also respond to specific issues and challenges of the particular time, such as famine, war and poverty.

Francis penned his call to action soon after he became the pope in the midst of escalating global humanitarian and refugee crises – notably, the death of thousands of migrants crossing the Mediterranean to the island of Lampedusa, near Sicily, in June 2013.

Francis demanded that Catholics and the broader global community pay attention to the dignity and humanity of migrants and called for a reawakening of people’s consciences “so that what happened would not be repeated.” Francis called the apathy to the death of migrants “globalization of indifference” to suffering.

He urged Catholics around the world to show love and mercy for the most vulnerable people in demonstrable ways. Calling it the “art of accompaniment,” he used the imagery of walking alongside the poor and taking off sandals in a sign of solidarity.

As the first pope from Latin America, Francis’ teachings on accompaniment were rooted in the Catholic liberation theology that spread throughout the region in the late 1960s and 1970s.

Liberation theology embraces putting the needs of the most vulnerable first and is grounded in biblical teachings. It prioritizes a “preferential option for the poor.”

Francis stands within a long tradition of Catholic social teaching that can be traced back to Pope Leo XIII. Leo was the first modern pope to coin the term “social doctrine,” an official Catholic teaching on how to build and maintain just and equitable economies.

Leo issued the papal document “Rerum Novarum” – “On Capital and Labor” – in May 1891 in the midst of the Industrial Revolution. Rerum Novarum emphasized the dignity of work and called for fair wages and humane working conditions.

The Catholic Church today and immigration

In more recent times, Pope Leo XIV – like his predecessor Francis and the earlier pope whose name he chose – has embraced a preferential option for the poor and an ethic of accompaniment. On Oct. 9, 2025, he issued his first exhortation, “Dilexi Te” – “I Have Loved You” – continuing Francis’ and the modern church’s focus on caring for vulnerable people.

In a section dedicated to migrants, he wrote that humans will be judged by how well they treat people who are poor, sick, imprisoned and foreign. Demonstrating love and concern for the poor, Leo emphasized, was a “hallmark of faith.”

Leo also endorsed a Nov. 12 pastoral message from the U.S. Catholic Council of Bishops urging immigration reforms that “recognize the fundamental dignity of all persons,” while maintaining national security interests, as both were possible. He urged Catholics and other “people of goodwill” to “listen carefully” to this message.

Accompaniment and people of goodwill

Accompaniment is uniquely Catholic, but the social thought it describes goes far beyond any religious denomination. From Los Angeles to Washington, D.C., everyday Catholics and non-Catholics alike have been demonstrating solidarity with the immigrants.

They are rejecting ICE’s aggressive tactics while demonstrating that they value human dignity and human rights.

Accompaniment appears to be a common language of solidarity – a way for “people of goodwill,” as Leo put it – to stand in solidarity with the most vulnerable people and refuse to accept immigration policies they see as being dehumanizing.

Kristy Nabhan-Warren is affiliated with The Catholic Worker organization.

– ref. Why standing in solidarity with immigrants is an act of accompaniment in Catholic philosophy – https://theconversation.com/why-standing-in-solidarity-with-immigrants-is-an-act-of-accompaniment-in-catholic-philosophy-275224

Source: The Conversation – USA (3) – By Christopher Schelin, Assistant Professor of Practical and Political Theologies, Starr King School for the Ministry

Louisiana can proceed with a law requiring public schools to display the Ten Commandments, according to a federal court decision on Feb. 20, 2026. The U.S. Fifth Circuit Court of Appeals voted that it is too early to determine whether the requirement violates the First Amendment of the Constitution, which protects religious liberty and prohibits the government from establishing religion. The judges heard arguments in Louisiana’s law and a similar Texas one in January 2025 but have yet to rule on the latter.

One of the plaintiffs in a lawsuit filed against the Texas law is Rev. Griff Martin, a Baptist pastor. Martin has criticized the Ten Commandments mandate as not just a violation of American precepts but religious ones as well. In a press release by the American Civil Liberties Union of Texas, which is representing the plaintiffs, he stated that “the separation of church and state (is) a bedrock principle of my family’s Baptist heritage.”

Speaker of the House Mike Johnson, who represents Louisiana, is also the country’s most prominent Baptist politician – and perceives the matter differently. The Louisiana law is not an effort to establish religion, but to acknowledge the country’s “history and tradition,” he told reporters in 2024.

Baptists have long advocated for religious freedom. But as a scholar of Baptist theology and history, I know that this record is far from simple. In fact, both Martin and Johnson have ample precedent for their opinions on Baptist identity and the relationship between church and state.

Historians and political scientists often divide interpretations of the First Amendment into two broad categories: “separationism” and “accommodationism.” According to separationists, government and religion should have no formal relationship. Accommodationists, on the other hand, believe government depends on and should encourage religion in general – or Christianity, specifically.

An honest look at their history reveals that Baptists have taken various stances in this debate, reflecting their overall diversity.

Call for separation

The phrase “separation of church and state” is famously traced back to an exchange between Thomas Jefferson and a group of Baptists.

After Jefferson’s election as president in 1800, the Danbury Baptist Association in Connecticut wrote a letter of congratulations. Jefferson responded, celebrating their shared beliefs in religious liberty. He cited the First Amendment, which says that “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof.” In Jefferson’s interpretation, religion is a matter between individuals and God, and so these clauses rightly erected a wall that defended conscience from the government.

But the image of a barrier between church and state is older than Jefferson’s letter. It first appears in the writing of Roger Williams, a radical preacher who founded Rhode Island in 1636. This was the first American colony to grant religious freedom for all people. Williams also helped organize America’s first Baptist church. In one of his works, Williams explained that the “hedge or wall of Separation” protected the “Garden of the Church” from the world.

Baptist separationism goes back to the beginning of the movement. The first Baptists were a group of English exiles living in Amsterdam in 1609. The church split, and part of the community returned to Britain under the leadership of Thomas Helwys.

In 1612, Helwys boldly delivered a book to King James called “A Short Declaration of the Mystery of Iniquity.” In it, he offered the first defense of absolute religious liberty in the English language.

Helwys declared the king was mortal and not God. Therefore, a ruler “hath no power over the mortal soul of his subjects” in matters of religion. He argued for tolerance not just of different Christian sects but other religions and nonbelievers: “Let them be heretics, Turks, Jews, or whatsoever, it appertains not to the earthly power to punish them in the least measure.”

King James had Helwys thrown in prison for his impudence, where he eventually died.

Baptists who argue for strict separation of church and state have done so for several reasons. They believe that the conscience of each individual must be respected. They contend that government is not competent to judge between true and false religion. And they fear that an alliance with state power corrupts the church’s witness to the gospel.

Seeking accommodation

As much as contemporary Baptists quote Helwys, his work was forgotten for many years following his death. In the American Colonies, many people saw Williams’ Rhode Island colony as a land of dangerous anarchy.

Baptists faced legal obstacles and sometimes violent persecution in colonies with established churches, such as Massachusetts and Virginia. They became fierce advocates for religious liberty during the American Revolution and the framing of the Constitution. But even as they believed in liberty for individuals and churches, many Baptists also believed government should support Christian faith and morals.

A significant figure who illustrates accommodation was Isaac Backus, a Massachusetts pastor. Backus fervently opposed taxation to benefit the Congregationalist Church in some New England colonies. But he also felt that the state should reflect shared religious tenets. As a result, he endorsed various morality laws, religious tests for office and the government printing of Bibles.

Baptists who support accommodation – the idea that government should cooperate with religion – tend to see the United States as a Christian nation, not simply a nation with Christian citizens. Today, 63% of Americans identify as Christian.

Second, they argue that successful governance relies on the population being virtuous, and that the best guarantee of virtue is practicing Christianity.

Religious faith as a prerequisite for civic stability was a common belief in early America. George Washington expressed this view in his farewell address.

Johnson advocates a similar perspective today. In a 2022 lecture at Louisiana Christian University, the Baptist college that formerly employed him, Johnson asserted that God lies at America’s foundations, and decline has occurred because biblical morality has been abandoned. He has also declared in a social media post that “just government” depends on the fear of “eternal judgment.”

Divided by faith

Are you a good Baptist if you oppose government-mandated displays of the Ten Commandments? Or are you a good Baptist if you support them? From a historical perspective, the answer to both questions is yes.

Religious liberty and church-state separation remain contested concepts not just politically but theologically. Some Baptists support a neutral government and the full equality of religious minorities. At the other end of the spectrum, a few explicitly embrace Christian nationalism.

The historian Barry Hankins proposed that Baptists’ opinions on church and state depend on their perceptions of culture. Separationists see themselves comfortably finding their place in a pluralistic society. Accommodationists, meanwhile, worry that a secularized country will curtail the free exercise of religion.

On this issue, and many others, I believe Baptists will long remain a people divided by their shared faith.

Christopher Schelin does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. Baptists have helped shape debate about religious freedom for over 400 years – up to today’s 10 Commandments laws – https://theconversation.com/baptists-have-helped-shape-debate-about-religious-freedom-for-over-400-years-up-to-todays-10-commandments-laws-274482