victim

It was at 11:21 a.m. on Sunday, June 21, that things started to fall apart. Aliyu Muhammad was in the Malali area, Kaduna, northwestern Nigeria, working underneath a car when he missed a call from his wife. When he called back, someone else answered and asked him if he knew the owner of the phone. 

“He said whatever he would tell me are just unconfirmed suspicions,” he recounted. “Then, he told me some women saw my wife and suspected she was a child kidnapper. I told him that I left her at home and she was supposed to attend an event. He said that’s exactly what she told them, but the people, seeing a stranger with a hijab and niqab talking to some children while there is a high rate of kidnapping, were suspicious. He asked me to send a representative since I wasn’t around.”

The man who called introduced himself as the Mai Anguwa (community head). Aliyu sent his friend, Suleiman Isa, to fill in for him. Fortunately, the man knew the friend.  

Ummulkhairi left her home in Sabon Gari Marraraban Jos, Kaduna, that morning to attend an Islamic lecture in Madrasat Tashiyhul Iman, an area she wasn’t familiar with. This led her to ask a group of children for directions. However, being a fully covered Muslim woman with a hijab and a face veil (niqab), some of the residents profiled her as dangerous. They mistook her for a child kidnapper. Within a short time, a mob gathered, and they eventually killed her, then set her body on fire, despite attempts to save her life.

The Kaduna State Police Command claimed that officers attempted to save her life, but the mob stormed the police station, overpowered them, and forcefully took Ummulkhairi out. However, eyewitness accounts tell a different story. 

Zainab Musa, Ummulkhairi’s sister-in-law, who was at the scene, said it was the Divisional Police Officer (DPO), CSP Abdullahi S. Akai, who handed her over to the mob, and that she tried to pull Ummulkhairi away from him but to no avail. Other witnesses, including Ummulkhairi’s co-wife, Hussaina Sani, corroborated this account. 

HumAngle visited the police station in Marrarraba Jos, where sources said the DPO “had been transferred to the Force Headquarters for investigation”. On the afternoon of Jul 16, we met DSP Mansir Hassan, the Kaduna Police spokesperson, who said he could not answer any questions because the case is under investigation and officers were not allowed to comment outside the earlier press statement.

After she was lynched, the DPO visited her house with some journalists, who interviewed him right in their compound at the centre of the family’s grief. 

“[The DPO] lifted his trousers to show us the injury he sustained from the mob. He even told us that his car was damaged, and all I could think was how any of that concerns us,” said Aminatu Isa Abdullahi, Ummulkhairi’s mother-in-law.  

On the day it happened 

As Aliyu struggled to reach the scene after the phone call, each passing second deepened his fears. “It was hard to get a bike from where I was in Malali Low-cost, so I had to walk,” he recalled. “While I was walking, I was anxiously calling my friend [Suleiman], but his number wasn’t connecting. I rushed to get my brother-in-law in Kawo Park, and we flagged down a bike.” He also called Zainab, his sister, who in turn contacted Ummulkhairi’s colleagues, who were also supposed to attend the event. 

The bike ride felt slow that day, and Aliyu’s anxiety worsened as he started receiving calls from people asking where he was as the crowd was becoming more erratic. When they reached the Marrarraban Jos Bridge, he saw cars and lorries parked on the road. The motorcyclist dropped them on the other side, and they continued on foot. 

He saw smoke from a distance. Then, as if on cue, his second wife called.

“They have killed her,” she said. 

Those words echoed in Aliyu’s head. He was struggling to hear what she was saying because she couldn’t stop crying, and when he started to ask questions, she couldn’t respond. Instead, she ended the call. 

“When I arrived there, I saw her friend. They were all crying,” he said.

Eventually, he saw his sister and second wife returning with a piece of clothing he immediately recognised as his wife’s hijab. The lemon-green fabric was torn. 

Aliyu had spent the previous night with Ummulkhairi. Every evening, even on the nights he stayed with his second wife, he would stop by to see her and the children. Every morning, before leaving for work, he did the same.

The evening before Ummulkhairi was killed was no different. She told him about her day, served him tuwo and vegetable soup, and they talked as they usually did. 

“I will always remember this as the last meal I had from her,” he said. 

The following morning, when he returned for his daily greetings, he found her seated at her favourite place, with her Qur’an open in front of her. “She reminded me to greet a sick neighbour who was her friend. I told her I would do so when I return,” he recalled.

It was then she informed him about the programme in Madrasat Tashiyhul Iman to which she was invited. He wished her well, and she asked the children to pray for him. 

Neither of them knew they were saying the final goodbye, nor did he know that hours later he would be standing at the police station, where her remains were. 

“I saw my wife’s body, burned and covered with a leaf,” Aliyu recounted. 

That day, he granted some interviews to journalists before the police released Ummulkhairi’s body to the family. “We returned her home and buried her,” he said. It was only afterwards, he said, that another loss struck him. “The phone you saw me give my daughter earlier was her phone, and something that further triggered me was when it was returned to me, I realised that I didn’t even think where her things were. The Mai Anguwa sent someone to give it to me, but he returned her shoes to me himself.”

Witnesses to tears 

When Suleiman Isa answered Aliyu’s call for help that morning, he didn’t know how the day would fracture his friend’s life. He arrived before the situation spiralled, helping to secure Ummulkhairi inside the police station. Believing she was safe, he stepped out to answer a phone call and meet a potential business customer. When he returned to the police station, he didn’t know she had already been dragged out and handed to the mob. 

“I started asking people where she was, and they told me that she had already been killed. At that point, my head turned, and I just started crying,” Suleiman recounted. 

He walked through the back entrance to the main gate, where Ummulkhairi’s body lay. “Some of us tried to stop the burning, after which we covered her body in leaves and put her on a stretcher,” he said. The family later took her home for burial. 

Although Suleiman and Ummulkhairi were not particularly close, he said the events of that afternoon left him shaken.

Grief was the last reason Ummulkhairi visited Hussaina Sani, her co-wife. Now, it is the reason Hussaina spends her day in the family compound, where Ummulkhairi lived, helping to hold together the space she left behind. 

Though the two women lived in different neighbourhoods and rarely saw one another, their relationship was warm whenever they met, Hussaina recounted. 

She had rushed to the police station after their husband called to tell her what had happened. When she arrived, Ummulkhairi had already been placed in a separate room. Inside the station, Hussaina encountered two women accusing her co-wife of being a child kidnapper. 

“They seemed angry, saying that they would not tolerate what happened. One of them got into a scuffle with the police officers,” she recounted. Unable to stay silent, Hussaina confronted one of the women herself. “I got upset and asked her if she saw her kidnapping any child. The woman said her child was kidnapped before. I asked her if it was Ummulkhairi who was responsible, and we kept going back and forth.” 

Outside, the crowd grew increasingly restless. Police officers fired tear gas over the station walls in an attempt to disperse them, but it did little to calm the situation. Soon, stones began raining into the compound. 

The officers moved the women into another room for safety and told them that reinforcements had been called. They also said Ummulkhairi would be transferred to Kaduna. Then the DPO arrived. 

“The first thing he said was, ‘Where is the culprit?’ Our sister-in-law then said, ‘Do you mean to say the suspect?’ and pointed to the room she was kept in. However, he came out dragging her, and my sister-in-law demanded to know where he was taking her. When she couldn’t stop her, she helped Ummulkhairi remove her niqab, and the DPO reached for her hijab, but Ummulkhairi held onto it tighter.” Despite the sister-in-law’s attempt to pull her back, he still pulled her outside and handed her to the mob. 

They heard her scream as the mob descended on her, but none of them could intervene because of the overwhelming crowd. Hussaina’s voice started rising as she recalled the events of the day.

She rejected the police’s account that the crowd had stormed the station. 

“I have no idea how many people there were,” he voice cracked. “There were hundreds, including men, women, and even children. At one point, both roads were filled with people; how could she even fight them?”  

Their sister-in-law, Zainab, ran into the streets pleading with the crowd to listen, explaining that Ummulkhairi was innocent. No one did. At one point, a police officer grabbed Zainab and warned that if she didn’t lay low, the mob might turn on her as well. Zainab was later taken out through a backdoor. 

The ones left behind 

On the morning of July 2, when HumAngle visited, Ummulkhairi’s home was thick with grief. In the midst of it, her children were playing about. Nearby, her mother-in-law, sister, and co-wife were moving around the hearth, trying to fill in the space her absence had left behind. The grief had thickened into the walls, but its weight was evident, even when they welcomed me with a warm smile. 

If Ummulkhairi were there, she would have woken up for dawn prayers, swept the house, and ensured her children were bathed and fed. She would have thrown danwake (bean dumplings) into a pot over the fire, like she did the day she was killed, and sliced pieces of onions into the hot oil. She would have plated it on the colourful plates her sister was now washing. 

Afterwards, she would have taken down her bag from the wall and revised what she would teach her students in her next class or left for school. If she did go to school, she would have returned around 2 p.m. Had I visited then, she would almost certainly have insisted on serving me a plate of food, even if it meant going without herself.

“Tell me about Ummulkhair,” I asked as I sat across from her younger sister, Ruqayyah Abbah, on the multicoloured mat in the sitting room. Ruqayyah had travelled from Gombi, Adamawa State, in northeastern Nigeria, after the news wrecked their home. She paused, as though weighing the question, before she started to speak. 

“Ummulkhairi had always taken care of the people around her. Ever since I knew her, she had always been one to feed and take care of any child. I can confidently say she is the kindest among us all,” she started. “But in a span of a day, all that was taken away when she was wrongly accused. I know she is innocent because I have known her all my life, and even if she wasn’t my sister, I would have said the same.” 

Ruqayyah recounted memories from when they were kids, how Ummulkhairi, who is fondly called Ummi by her family, always stayed away from fights, even when she was teased. As a child, she often preferred to play alone. 

Ummi Abba Gambo was her maiden name. She attended Gombi Primary School and Government Girls Secondary School, Gombi, for her secondary school. After marrying and relocating to Kaduna State, she enrolled in an Islamic school. Upon graduating, she was retained as a teacher due to her diligence. She taught both the children and adult sections. She last visited her family home nine months ago for her father’s funeral. 

“I would say she was the most easily terrified person I know. She always avoided things that would put her in scary or uncomfortable situations. After how she was attacked that day, even if they had left her alive, I don’t think she would have avoided being traumatised by the whole situation,” Ruqayyah said. 

When the news of Ummulkhairi’s death reached Gombi, it landed first in Ruqayyah’s ear. That morning, she and their mother had been trying to reach Ummulkhairi to talk about her youngest daughter’s education. 

“She hasn’t been put in school yet due to financial problems, and our mother wanted to send her the money. After Zuhr (midday)  prayers, I tried her number to let her know, but I couldn’t reach her,” she recalled. “I informed my mother, and we decided to call her later in the day, not knowing that she had already been killed at that point. By the time he called me, they were either about to go bury her or were coming back from it.” 

The details came in bits and pieces, because the grief hit before she could hear the rest of it. She learnt about the gut-wrenching details from their older sister, whom she called after she managed to stop crying. 

Ruqayyah arrived at Marraraban Jos on Tuesday, June 23, two days after the incident, but the reality of her sister’s death did not fully settle until she reached the family home. The first sign of absence was the lack of phone calls from her sister, who often called en route to see how her journey was going and to ask what she wanted to eat when she arrived. That had been the routine every time she travelled to Kaduna in the past. 

This time, the phone never rang, at least not from Ummulkhairi. 

“To think she couldn’t find safety in the police station. What’s the point of authorities that can’t protect someone in that situation?” The anger found its root in her voice. It wasn’t just that her sister died; it was that the system designed to protect her failed to. Her voice softened as one of Ummulkhairi’s daughters walked into the room. 

Seeing her nieces and nephews the day she arrived, she said, was the moment the reality of the loss finally overwhelmed her.

“I just hope the government gets us justice, so that these children and their father can get some peace. I feel so bad for the children. I know how much their mother loved them and how she could breathe for them if she could,” she added. 

Ruqayyah reached for a lemon-green storage box filled with the things her sister treasured. Inside were photographs from her youth and with her family. In one, she was holding one of her children, her eyes looking straight into the camera. In another, she was with friends, her face glowing with the promise of youth. 

As we looked through the pictures, three of her children gathered around, adding the little they knew to the history her sister was sharing. It was then that her second son, Usman Aliyu, brought me her favourite Qur’an, its battered pages, evidence of her love. 

Ummulkhairi is not the only victim of mob violence in Nigeria. It has become a recurring feature of public life in Nigeria, fuelled by distrust of formal justice systems and the widespread belief that communities must protect themselves. 

Suleiman Usman Yusuf, a security consultant and human rights advocate, said the roots of the problem lie not simply in public anger, but institutional failure. 

“The biggest reason is institutional failure compounded by deliberate impunity. When citizens repeatedly watch genuine criminals walk free, whether because evidence disappears, witnesses are intimidated, prosecutors receive phone calls, or judges grant bail to [people] who return to terrorise the same communities, a dangerous conclusion takes root in the public mind: that the formal justice system is not for them,” he said. 

He added that mob justice is not primarily a product of ignorance or barbarism. It is a deeply wrong response to a system that has consistently failed to deliver consequences. 

“People do not burn suspects because they enjoy violence. They do it because they have been taught, through repeated experience, that violence is the only language that produces results,” he added. “The second layer is impunity for the mobs themselves. When a crowd kills someone, and nothing happens, that crowd becomes a template. The next community that is angry enough simply follows the same script.”

He pointed to a pattern stretching across more than a decade. “We saw it with the Aluu Four in 2012. We saw it with Major General Idris Alkali in 2018. We saw it with Deborah Samuel in 2022. We are seeing it now with Malama Ummulkhairi in 2026.”

Although the incidents occurred years apart and in different parts of the country, he said, they shared a common thread. 

“Nobody was ever made to pay a price serious enough to deter the next mob,” he said. 

Suleiman believes legislation remains necessary, but it must be matched by visible accountability. He argues that Nigeria needs at least one high-profile conviction that would send an unambiguous message across the country to stop the cycle. He has been advocating for the Prohibition and Protection of Persons from Lynching, Mob Action, and Extrajudicial Bill passed by the Senate in 2017 to be signed into law. He has written formal letters to the House of Representatives, the President of the Senate, and others.

Amnesty International recorded at least 555 victims of mob violence in Nigeria between 2012 and 2023, with 33 people burnt to death. The regions with the highest cases were the North West (100) and the South West (98), mostly as a result of being accused of witchcraft, theft, blasphemy, or taking part in rituals. 

In Ummulkhairi’s family, however, mob violence is no longer a mere figure. It is a loved one, whose absence is felt every second. Her mother collapsed after hearing the news of her daughter’s death. Family members in Gombi said she remained in a state of deep distress, unable to eat or move normally after the incident. Due to pre-existing issues with hypertension and back pain, the journey was impossible for her to make down to Kaduna, but every time she remembered how her daughter died, the memories triggered another health crisis.

The last meal Ummulkhairi prepared for her family was danwake, but it was forgotten when the news reached the family. The next day, it was thrown into a basket as it had started to spoil. What happened next will haunt their paternal grandmother, Aminatu Isa Abdullahi, forever.

Twelve-year-old Usman, Ummulkhairi’s second son, attempted to eat the spoilt meal. “He looked at us and vowed that he must eat it even if it was spoiled,” Aminatu recounted. They watched him as he shoved handfuls into his mouth, an attempt to save his mother’s last meal, further breaking their hearts. 

“One day I was sitting with her youngest daughter, and she said to me: ‘Will you stay with us until our mother comes back?’” That was another exchange that shattered Aminatu’s heart, and recalling the memory made her break down in tears. She promised her she would stay as long as she was needed, not having the heart to explain that her mother was never returning. 

Aminatu called for justice. Her prayers echoed through the wall, her pain spreading through it. When she arrived at Marraraban Jos after she got the news,  the town was in uproar. As they tried to get a bike to take them to the house, someone warned her to stop crying so hard in case people suspect they are Ummulkhairi’s relatives and try to attack them too. 

“We couldn’t even do the funeral bath for her; we just had to sprinkle water on her burnt body,” Aminatu said. She had declined to see the body, afraid of what would stick in her memory. “They bought some security personnel with guns around the house, and all I could think was what they thought they were trying to protect when we had already lost her.” 

Hamza Dantani, a human rights lawyer, has since submitted a petition calling for a thorough investigation into the circumstances of this case. The alleged negligence contravenes the Police Act 2020 and violates Sections 33 and 34 of the 1999 Nigerian Constitution, which protect the fundamental rights to life and dignity. 

A history of violence 

About seven years ago, Marraraban Jos started having security issues; before then, stories like that were tales coming from far-away places. Sometimes, others from neighbouring villages would call residents to ask if they saw kidnappers approaching their side. This earned the neighbourhood its nickname, Sambisa. 

Things have eased up a little for the neighbourhood, as it was a lot worse three years ago. They hardly went a week without someone being kidnapped there. The men formed a night neighbourhood watch to protect what they could. The women at home live with anxiety every time their husbands and sons go out, not knowing how the night would end up for them. Aliyu was among the men who used to patrol the community.

Ummulkhairi’s family moved to the neighbourhood in 2020 and had lived in their current house for about two years. Right behind the house stretched acres of empty land, extending beyond what the eyes can see. 

“The men usually go out around 11 p.m. to start their patrol. Sometimes, they come back with wounds as a result of hiding in the bushes. I sometimes hear gunshots from my room, especially when one of our neighbours was kidnapped. I started to sleep fully dressed; I would wear trousers and keep a hijab beside me just in case I get kidnapped,” said Habiba Muhammad, Ummulkhairi’s friend and neighbour. 

Recently, residents said kidnapping rates had reduced, but cattle and animal rustling still happens often around that area. Still, they have never seen security personnel posted to their neighbourhood. Years of living with fear had made residents increasingly suspicious of strangers. There were times when people fled their homes simply because they feared an attack was coming.

“We can’t leave because we don’t have money to go elsewhere, and even if they kidnap us, they won’t get much. When we used to run, I would go to my grandmother’s place in Kaduna town. It disrupts our children’s education too; sometimes, they close up the schools when the kidnappings worsen. But now, I have accepted this fate; I don’t want to run anymore,” Habiba said. 

This anxiety is shared with several other people HumAngle spoke to in the area. However, some unanimously agreed that even though kidnapping was common in their part of Marraraban Jos, child kidnapping on its own rarely happens.

 “Sometimes when they can’t find the men, they will kidnap their wives, except in some circumstances where they would kidnap an entire family,” she said. Habiba recalled the experience of one neighbour whose family was attacked. “Because his wife was pregnant and couldn’t walk, they beat her up and abandoned her on the way. They also threw down one of her children when he peed on their body, and he even broke his arm.”

Retracing memory 

Aliyu has a lot to say about Ummulkhairi; her loss is overwhelming. 

“She was very kind to me, and there were many times I would be in distress, and she would offer warmth and support, even when we were going through hard times,” he recalled. “This place you are sitting in used to be her favourite place, and when she is not busy with other tasks, she prefers to sit there and study her books. Sometimes, other women from the neighbourhood come in so she can help them with theirs.” 

As he dug into his memory to answer the questions, his second son lay down the mat as he slyly tried to take his father’s phone as he spoke. When he succeeded, his legs swung in an upward motion as he lay on his stomach, playing with the phone as we spoke about his mother, a contrast from the young child who shoved pieces of spoiled food in his mouth over a week ago. 

“There are so many things I can tell you about Ummulkhairi, but I don’t even have the words. God knows I have suffered such a great loss; the only thing I can do now is pray for her,” he said. 

Uba Sani, the Kaduna State Governor, has claimed that “about 41 persons have been charged with culpable homicide. And about 41 went through investigation also; that’s 82. Thirty suspects have also been charged with unlawful assembly”. 

A June 24 report shows that 24 alleged suspects – 20 males and 4 females – have been arraigned on charges of criminal conspiracy, inciting public disturbance, mischief, mischief destruction of public and police property, and culpable homicide. 

This news reached Aliyu and his family through social media. “They said they were taken to court, but I don’t know much about that. The video I saw showed some people lined up, but I couldn’t really see their faces clearly; I only recognised one face, an old man that I see around,” he explained. 

The family, still waiting for answers about the circumstances surrounding Ummulkhairi’s death, felt excluded from the process meant to deliver justice. “No one briefed us; we have to depend on rumours for information. Her youngest son told me yesterday that if they get justice for what was done to their mother, he thinks he will be better, and I could only try not to cry,” Aliyu’s brother, Abubakar Muhammad, added. 

The recorded videos of the lynching are also a huge wound to the family, and they couldn’t bring themselves to watch them. “I cannot watch these kinds of videos. I avoid social media for that reason. I usually only go in to respond to condolence messages,” Aliyu said. He wished people cared more about how things like this would affect them.

Abubakar said Aliyu often told him that he was worried about his wife during the past few months due to the loss of her father, as it seemed to be taking a toll on her. But even then, she had continued to live life as she always had.

“The most painful part was hearing what the oldest son was saying about taking vengeance for what was done to his mother. I tried to placate him. I even tried to close his mouth, but he pushed my hand away. Things like this can only be solved by justice; only that can give us relief. And if this keeps happening, no one is safe,” Abubakar said. 

Ummulkhairi did not disappear with the smoke that burned her alive in broad daylight that day. She is present in the edges and corners of the house, on the walls where her bag lies, in the kit where she once kept everything that matters,  and in the memories of her loved ones.  

SACRAMENTO — California has spent millions of dollars to combat sex trafficking, and yet it can still be found in every city and town, hiding in plain sight.

Whether it’s online, on places such as Figueroa Street in L.A. or Stockton Boulevard in Sacramento, or even in the hotel rooms where our World Cup guests stayed, there are thousands of women and girls being sexually exploited in California right now, despite all that money and all the resources it has purchased.

“The reality is that few threats to a woman’s safety are as brutal or as overlooked as sex trafficking,” First Partner Jennifer Siebel Newsom said Monday, sitting with her husband, the governor, in a tiny second-floor dance studio built for survivors of trafficking.

Siebel Newsom was there to watch Newsom sign an executive order that was driven by her work as an advocate for survivors of trafficking. On its surface, the order may not sound like much and isn’t likely to make the news. It calls for most of the major state agencies to come up with a plan within 60 days to work together to curb trafficking and help survivors.

Hardly an earth-shattering demand. But believe it or not, one of the biggest barriers that our state faces, in this great age of technology and always-on connection, is that there is little collaboration between the folks fighting traffickers.

Yes, we have about 35 task forces statewide working on this issue and sometimes they run joint operations. But more often, those fighting trafficking live in their own silos, doing their own work, and often failing or refusing to share even scant details with other jurisdictions.

The same holds true for the many organizations that work with survivors, most of which have come on the scene only in the last few decades as sex trafficking morphed from a crime in which children were viewed as complicit to one in which we understand that they are victims.

Those organizations often do great work, but they too often do it alone. A survivor — or a girl being trafficked and looking for escape — has no easy way to find someone to help her. It’s largely luck, the right outreach person in the right place at the right time, or a cop who has taken the time and care to know what the resources are.

“We are so fragmented,” Sharmin Bock told the governor. She’s a former prosecutor in Alameda County who tried the first sex trafficking case in the U.S. Now, she’s advising the first partner on how California can do a better job fighting the predators — traffickers and buyers alike — who daily trade cash for the use of a human body, willing or not.

Bock points out that while those fighting against trafficking lack collaboration, the opposite is true of the criminals. Up and down the state, they are organized. A trafficker might pick up his victim in one city, only to transport her to another city to meet buyers. Victims are moved often, and even sold or traded to other traffickers.

Once a victim crosses a jurisdictional line, everything that happened on the other side of it too often gets lost in the nowhere land of bureaucracy and red tape. A move from Los Angeles to Riverside, and the girl might as well be in Taiwan, as Bock puts it.

“We need to stop asking whose case is this, and rather ask how do we solve this case together? How do we solve the problem together?” Bock said. “Collaboration recovers children sooner, links investigation, dismantles trafficking organizations and holds traffickers accountable. A trafficker should never escape accountability because critical information was sitting in another agency’s database.”

So while Newsom’s demand for a 60-day plan might not sound like much, it goes to the heart of what ails the system.

“Traffickers collaborate every day,” Bock said. “Traffickers have built networks to exploit children. We must build stronger networks to protect them.”

Newsom drew a parallel to the plague of retail theft that captivated the state not long ago, and which the state has successfully combated. Though careful to draw the obvious line that stealing a tube of toothpaste is a far cry from sexually exploiting a child, he pointed out similarities — online platforms that turned a blind eye, a lack of coordination between agencies, criminals that knew how to exploit not just victims, but systems.

Now he’s looking for that kind of “momentum,” to solve this most stubborn of abuses.

“For the last few years, I thought I could buy my way out of this,” Newsom said with a shocking bit of honesty, pointing to all that budget money that has been invested. But, he said, he’s clear now that it’s not a money problem. It’s a people problem.

“How is that possible? “ the governor wondered. The executive order, he said, is about saying “enough of just good intentions … we’re not delivering fundamental results.”

A report at the end of 60 days isn’t results. But it’s an acknowledgment that California needs to do better, and a road map to get there.

That’s crucial. Like Siebel Newsom and the governor, I’ve got two teenage daughters and I know just how vulnerable girls are, in the best of circumstances.

With all our resources and good intentions, California can’t continue to let predators win simply because they’re more organized.

Detroit Lions cornerback Terrion Arnold has been arrested in connection to an alleged armed attack on a group of men in Tampa, Fla., in February. He faces eight felony charges of kidnapping and robbery that could keep him in prison for life if convicted.

Investigators believe Arnold was the “primary conspirator” in an alleged plot that left three young men with “visible injuries from being battered, held at gunpoint, and pistol-whipped before their personal property was stolen and they were ordered to leave,” the Tampa Police Department said Wednesday in a news release.

Six other suspects previously were arrested. Two women already pleaded guilty and agreed to help authorities prosecute Arnold, police said.

The second-year player turned himself in Wednesday night and was held in a Hillsborough County jail without bond before his arraignment hearing Thursday afternoon.

Arnold appeared remotely during the brief hearing, where he was charged with three counts of robbery with a firearm or deadly weapon for less than $750 and three counts of kidnapping to harm or terrorize, all of which are first-degree felonies. He was also charged with two second-degree felonies for conspiring to commit those crimes.

“He’s absolutely denying these allegations,” defense attorney R. Timothy Jansen said during Hillsborough County court proceedings.

Arnold will be held without bond until a pretrial detention hearing Monday, where the Hillsborough County state attorney’s office will argue for him to remain behind bars until trial.

According to Tampa police, several items belonging to Arnold and others were stolen Feb. 1 from an Airbnb rental property in Largo. They reported to Largo police that the items were worth more than $250,000.

The alleged incident that led to Arnold’s arrest occurred early Feb. 4. It was plotted, Tampa police said, because Arnold suspected that two of the three men were responsible for stealing the items. Investigators later determined those men were not involved, police said.

Police said the victims were lured to an apartment, where they were held at gunpoint and hit by suspects who were streaming the alleged attack to Arnold, who is accused of helping coordinate the plot and giving orders to the alleged attackers on a group chat during the incident. He later arrived at the apartment and drove some of the suspects away, police said.

“Fame doesn’t get you out of criminal charges or our pursuit of justice and holding criminals accountable,” Tampa police chief Lee Bercaw said in a statement posted to X. “Our victims now have some closure thanks to the great work of our detectives and our strong partnership with State Attorney Suzy Lopez.”

The head of the management agency that represents Arnold said in a statement that the former first-round draft pick “categorically denies any involvement in the matters unlying the allegations made against him and maintains his innocence.”

“There is no credible evidence linking Mr. Arnold to these allegations,” EAG Sports Management CEO Denise White said. “Instead, the government appears to be relying on testimony from multiple convicted felons who have admitted their own involvement and may have substantial incentives to shift blame in an effort to lessen their sentences.”

Arnold has played in 24 games for the Lions. He had 31 tackles and an interception last season before going on injured reserve with a shoulder injury on Dec. 1.

The Lions said they are aware of Arnold’s situation but have no further comment.

The Associated Press contributed to this report.

As La Cruz continues to break down barriers for the LGBTQ+ community in reggaeton, the rising Venezuelan star enjoys living out his gay fantasies in his music videos. Take the sultry video for his 2023 breakthrough single, “Quítate La Ropa,” which sees shirtless men perreando (twerking) before him in a locker room.

But at the same time, La Cruz has come to understand that his platform as a gay reggaeton artist coincides at a time when conservatism is sweeping the globe — and queer rights are receding.

“It fills me with happiness to represent a community that has been denigrated, treated badly and pushed into a corner for many years,” a bedheaded La Cruz says over Zoom from his New York City hotel room. (He had just performed at a Pride event the night before.)

“It’s a fact that [LGBTQ] rights are becoming progressive, but they’re rolled back even faster than they advance,” he adds. “This is very painful and concerning. This is happening in every country in different ways. During these difficult times, I’m going to keep putting my heart into my music more than ever.”

La Cruz is the stage name of Alfonso La Cruz. The native of La Guaira, a coastal city in Venezuela, pursued a music career after relocating to Spain in 2015. Following a brief stint on the singing competition “Operación Triunfo” three years later, La Cruz was closeted and found his momentum stifled. In 2022, he took the brave step of singing about his affection and lust for other men in his debut album, “Hawaira.”

Venezuelan reggaeton singer La Cruz released his new EP, “El Nene, Vol. 2,” on June 11.

(Maria Camila Pinzon)

Backed by the beats of reggaeton, a genre that had historically excluded the LGBTQ+ community, La Cruz found both his groove and his tribe with hits like “Te Conocí Bailando” and “Quítate La Ropa.” Early supporters included Colombian superstar Karol G, as well as Mexican American R&B singer Omar Apollo.

Alongside Puerto Rican provocateurs like Young Miko and Villano Antillano, La Cruz has continued to queer the heteronormative urbano space. He has also pushed his sound to broader horizons in his new EP, “El Nene, Vol. 2,” which includes “Sírveme,” a Brazilian funk banger with drag pop star Gloria Groove — and “Te Perdí,” a touching tribute to the victims and survivors of the 2016 Pulse nightclub shooting in Orlando, Fla.

La Cruz’s EP dropped on June 11, the day before the 10th anniversary of that tragedy, which largely impacted the queer Latino community. In an interview with The Times, he opened up about being a gay reggaetonero and “Te Perdi,” his tribute to the 49 people lost at Pulse.

It’s been three years since you first went viral with “Quítate La Ropa.” What have you learned about yourself during that time?
There are songs that have brought me a lot of love and I’m thankful to my fans that consider that song to be a classic. It’s brought me a lot of blessings. At this moment, I feel like I have the best opportunities in my life. However, I feel like the industry is a bit uncomfortable with an artist that’s openly gay and wants to be a part of this. That hasn’t stopped me at all. It’s the gasoline in my motor. It’s what pushes me to keep working hard. My fans are what’s building my career and I won’t let them down. I’m sticking with this until the end.

You connected with Karol G early in your career. Did she give you any advice when you met her?
I want to say publicly that I would love to open for her concerts on her Viajando Por El Mundo Tropitour. I’m very close to her. I love her so much. She has always treated me with so much love. I hope that something between me and her can happen sometime. I know everything happens in due time. I told her that I love the way she is and how she connects with her fans. When I see her singing and performing, I feel like she’s a sister to me. A big piece of advice that she gave me and that I’ll always carry with me is to never lose the humility and closeness that I have with my fans. The key to success is humility. I never want to be out of reach. I want people to see me and say, “I want to achieve my dreams like he has.”

How did your collaboration “Sírveme” with Gloria Groove come together?
I love her so much! I’ve always been a big fan of hers. I’ve gotten close to a lot of artists in Brazil and Gloria has been one of them. We didn’t think twice about making this song. Gloria was coincidentally traveling to the amusement parks in Orlando. I told her: “Baby, let’s go! I’m ready for you in Miami.” She told me: “Baby, I’m going to Miami!” We met one afternoon to create this song. She paused her vacation to go to the studio with me. It was very beautiful. I love my Brazilian fans.

With “El Nene, Vol. 2,” why was it important for you to also shed a light on the 10th anniversary of the Pulse nightclub shooting?
In 2016, when I recently arrived in Spain and my brother recently arrived in the U.S., we had a call with our family. My brother said, “There was a shooting close to where I live and it was in a gay club.” My family has supported me since I first told them about my sexuality. I thought that that could’ve happened to me.

I’m following up on this tragedy because it shaped my life. As the years go on, information about this attack has faded away. Each day people are talking less about it. It’s a tragedy that’s super important to remember, like 9/11 and the [2017] Las Vegas shooting, because it’s one of the worst attacks in U.S. history. Why are we not talking about it anymore? We have to keep talking about things so that they don’t happen again.

What inspiration did you pull from the Pulse tragedy for your song “Te Perdí”?
On this path, I’ve gotten to know the stories of people that survived that shooting. For example, there was a boy with his mother that lost her life and he survived. There’s a lot of stories of love from that club that have [since] come out. When I went to the studio, I was inspired by loss, or a love that’s gone away, with respect and love for the community that supports me. It is my gift, to be a voice for this situation that should never be repeated. There are people that don’t know about this tragedy and I want to let the world know that this happened. I hope that the victims’ families and the people that survived are living lives of peace and calm.

Grammy-nominated rapper Mystikal has been sentenced to 20 years in prison for third-degree rape.

The “Danger” rapper was arrested in the summer of 2022 and booked into the Ascension Parish Jail in Louisiana and charged with first-degree rape, simple robbery, domestic abuse battery–strangulation, false imprisonment and simple criminal damage to property after the victim identified the rapper as the suspect from the hospital where she was being treated for injuries.

According to Baton Rouge-based ABC affiliate WBRZ, the victim told a Louisiana courtroom on Tuesday that Mystikal, real name Michael Tyler, punched and choked her, pulled braids out of her hair and forcibly raped her during the 2022 incident. The victim requested the maximum sentence for the rapper.

“If I did that to you, I deserve the max sentence,” Tyler told the courtroom before he was sentenced to 20 years for third-degree rape, which carries a maximum sentence of 25 years with no chance for early release or probation.

In March, Tyler entered a guilty plea, which knocked his first-degree rape charge down to third-degree. In Louisiana, first-degree rape carries a maximum sentence of life imprisonment. According to WBRZ, the rapper’s attorney filed a motion to withdraw the guilty plea days before Tyler was sentenced, but the motion was tossed.

The New Orleans-born artist was convicted more than two decades ago of sexual battery after pleading guilty to charges in 2003. He served six years in prison and was released in 2010.

The rapper was previously indicted in 2017 on rape and kidnapping charges stemming from allegations in 2016. He spent 18 months in jail before being released in 2019 on a $3-million bond, the Associated Press reported. The Caddo Parish district attorney in Louisiana ultimately dropped those charges in 2020 after a second grand jury declined to bring an indictment.

With his raspy vocal intensity and scream-like musical delivery, Mystikal shot to the top of the charts with Master P’s No Limit Records in the late 1990s. In 2004, the embattled rapper’s original label, Jive Records, released two compilations of his music, “Prince of the South … The Hits” and “Chopped & Screwed.”

Former Times staff writer Nardine Saad contributed to this report.

The shuttle of the Iran World Cup team between Mexico and the United States took root Sunday in Tijuana with an accessory.

The players arrived in Tijuana wearing gold-colored lapel pins on their jackets acknowledging victims of a missile strike on an elementary school that took place Feb. 28 at the outset of the war in their country.

The pins simply read “#168” — replicating the hashtag of the number of people killed in the daytime strike in Minab in southern Iran. Most of the victims were girls attending Shajareh Tayyebeh Elementary School.

The Iran delegation flew on a private jet from Turkey to Tijuana. Mehdi Taj, president of the Iran Football Federation, said two weeks ago that the training base would be in Mexico instead of Tucson.

FIFA has not given a reason for the change, although delays have occurred in processing U.S. visas for some Iranian players and other members of the delegation that allegedly have ties to the Revolutionary Guard.

Iran is preparing to play its three group-stage games in the United States, with the first scheduled June 15 against New Zealand at SoFi Stadium (called Los Angeles Stadium during the World Cup). Its second game, June 21 against Belgium, is also scheduled in L.A. and the third game will take place June 26 in Seattle against Egypt.

It is unclear whether FIFA — the governing body of the World Cup — would allow the pins to be worn by anyone on the sidelines during matches. That would include coaches and other team personnel in addition to players.

FIFA took no action in response to earlier displays of remembrance by the Iran players and has not commented on the legality of wearing the pins. FIFA regulations state that “equipment must not have any political, religious or personal slogans, statements or images.” The rule applies to players, coaches and officials on the sidelines during matches.

The Iran team twice acknowledged victims of the airstrike during the Iran national anthem before warmup matches in March. In the first, players held purple school backpacks decorated with bows. In the second, players held images of those who had died.

Before more recent warmup games, the Iran team stood with their right hands across their chests during the anthem. And earlier in March, some members of the Iran women’s soccer team remained quiet during the national anthem at an Asian Cup match, leading Iranian state TV to call them “wartime traitors.”

Video footage analyzed by investigative group Bellingcat appears to show a U.S. Tomahawk missile striking the school, which was adjacent to a compound associated with the Iranian Revolutionary Guard and barracks for its naval brigade. The United States has not accepted responsibility for the attack, although the military is investigating.

Upon arriving in Tijuana, Iran team captain Ehsan Hajsafi criticized FIFA about the delay in obtaining visas.

“First of all, we’re very happy that the team has finally arrived, and we’re delighted about that,” Hajsafi told reporters. “Thank God, the team’s condition is very good.

“With everything that happened, visas were eventually issued. Personally, however, I do have a complaint about FIFA. Why did it take so long? As far as I understand, visas were issued only to the players and a few members of the coaching staff.”

Ahead of the 2022 World Cup in Qatar, Hajsafi spoke boldly about the government crackdown on mass demonstrations in Iran.

“Before anything else, I would like to express my condolences to all of the bereaved families in Iran,” Hajsafi said. “They should know that we are with them, we support them and we sympathize with them. “We cannot deny the conditions — the conditions in my country are not good and the players know it also.”

The Associated Press contributed to this story.

WASHINGTON — David Johnston was a licensed attorney when he illegally entered the U.S. Capitol with a mob of President Trump’s supporters on Jan. 6, 2021. More than five years later, the South Carolina man is offering to help fellow “J6ers” apply for payouts from the Trump administration’s nearly $1.8-billion fund for people claiming to be victims of a “weaponized” government.

He’ll do it for a 10% cut of any award, capped at $5,000 apiece.

“I think the narrative is changing” about how the history of that day is being told, Johnston said in a video he posted to social media. “I think good things are happening for us.”

Hundreds of Trump loyalists pleaded guilty to storming the Capitol, admitting under oath that they broke the law. Some were convicted of sedition, and many attacked police officers while trying to overturn Trump’s election loss. Now pardoned by Trump, many hope to capitalize on their crimes by tapping into the $1.776-billion settlement fund designed to compensate the president’s allies who claim they were politically prosecuted.

A bipartisan backlash to the fund and a legal roadblock have not dimmed the celebratory response from Jan. 6 rioters clamoring for a share of the taxpayer money. Some are staking claims even though the government has not established an application process and a judge has frozen the fund’s formation, at least temporarily.

Seeking payouts

The fund’s critics see it as another vehicle for Trump and his allies to whitewash the events of Jan. 6, retroactively justify the mob’s assault on a pillar of American democracy and reward some of Trump’s most loyal followers.

Jason Riddle, a military veteran from New Hampshire who was sentenced to 90 days behind bars after pleading guilty to riot charges, publicly rejected a pardon from Trump. Likewise, he said it would be “ridiculous” for him or any other Jan. 6 rioter to get government compensation.

“I’d love money, but I can’t accept that. That would bother me for the rest of my life,” he said. “We weren’t innocently persecuted just because of who we are or who we vote for. We were persecuted for committing criminal behavior in the Capitol of the United States.”

Plenty of other “J6ers” do not share Riddle’s reluctance.

A Florida man who posed for photos with then-House Speaker Nancy Pelosi’s stolen lectern argued on social media that he deserves to be compensated for the cost of his infamy. A rioter from New Jersey described by prosecutors as a Nazi sympathizer hailed the fund as “good news not just for J6ers but all victims of weaponization.” A Texas man who received a seven-year prison sentence for storming the Capitol with a metal tomahawk celebrated the fund as “payback” for “victims of Biden’s tyranny,” referring to President Biden.

Oregon resident Pamela Hemphill, sentenced to 60 days in jail for her conviction, rejected a pardon from Trump but has drafted a written claim for compensation from the fund. Unlike scores of rioters who claim to be victims of a government weaponized by Democrats, Hemphill blames Trump for her legal troubles. Her claims letter says she is seeking $5 million in compensation.

“I wouldn’t have been through all of this if Trump hadn’t lied about the election being stolen,” she said during a telephone interview. “It’s a direct result of his lies that I was even there that day.”

Legal and political challenges

It is an open question whether anyone convicted of a Capitol riot-related crime could be eligible for payments from a fund created to resolve Trump’s lawsuit against the IRS over the leak of his tax returns.

Acting Atty. Gen. Todd Blanche has not ruled out that possibility. Blanche said there are no limits on who can apply, but he noted that the fund’s five commissioners — all yet to be named — will decide who deserves to be compensated and why, based on factors such as “what the person did, his sentence, how much time he was in jail.”

“That’s up to the commissioners,” Blanche told the Associated Press on Thursday when asked about his position on whether violent Jan. 6 defendants should be eligible for payments.

“You have to define something and then stick to it. That’s something I’ve been hesitant to try to do, because it’s very fact-intensive,” Blanche said. ”Me sitting here and talking in hypotheticals is something that I don’t think is fair to the process.”

It is unclear whether Congress would block payments to Jan. 6 defendants. Senate Republicans who are angry about the settlement have said they want to place parameters on the fund as part of a Department of Homeland Security spending bill. They abruptly left town this month after a tense meeting with Blanche and will return Monday with the situation unresolved.

A federal judge in Virginia has frozen the fund’s establishment and temporarily blocked any processing or paying of claims. The judge issued that ruling Friday in one of at least three lawsuits challenging the fund.

Brendan Ballou, a former prosecutor who tried several Jan. 6 cases before leaving the Department of Justice last year, sued on behalf of two police officers who helped defend the Capitol from the mob. Ballou views the fund’s creation as part of a broader Trump campaign to undermine democratic institutions and rewrite the history of Jan. 6.

“And if the president is successful in that effort, if he’s able to get people to either forget or condone that day, he knows that he can get people to accept any attack on democracy,” Ballou said.

‘I want vengeance’

Nearly 1,600 people were charged with Capitol riot-related federal crimes. More than 1,200 were convicted and sentenced before Trump issued mass pardons and ordered the dismissal of all pending Jan. 6 cases upon his return to the White House last year. Trump also freed far-right extremist group members who were imprisoned for plotting to attack the Capitol to keep Trump in office after he lost the 2020 presidential election to Biden.

The self-described “J6 community” isn’t the only pro-Trump constituency angling for cuts of the money after being charged with or convicted of crimes.

Meshawn Maddock, who was charged as being a fake elector for Trump in Michigan before a judge dismissed the case last year, said she and her husband, state Rep. Matt Maddock, “absolutely” plan on making a claim. She believes the fund’s use of taxpayer money is justified because it “paid for the prosecution and investigation of the years that I was being hunted down.”

“I want vengeance and I want retribution,” Maddock said.

Trump’s campaign to recast the violence of Jan. 6 as a peaceful protest seems to have emboldened many convicted rioters.

Johnston’s eagerness to help other Capitol rioters with claims contrasts with his remorse he expressed at his sentencing in 2022. He apologized for his “terrible lapse in judgment” before a judge sentenced him to three weeks in jail and three months of home detention. He pleaded guilty to a misdemeanor trespassing charge.

“It was a dumb, dumb thing to do,” Johnston told the judge. “I am 100% responsible for what I did that day.”

Kunzelman writes for the Associated Press. AP writers Jamie Stengle, Mary Claire Jalonick and Joey Cappelletti contributed to this report.

Wander Franco is guilty of sexually abusing a 14-year-old girl in 2023, a judge in the Dominican Republic made clear Monday.

Yet in his next breath, the same judge ruled that the former Tampa Bay Rays star shortstop will not be sentenced to prison because he was a victim of blackmail and extortion by the girl’s mother.

Celebrity justice in the D.R. can be perplexing, and Judge José Antonio Núñez admitted as much. But he also contended that the judicial pardon he granted Franco was the result of “logical and legal reasoning.”

“It seems contradictory to declare criminal responsibility and, at the same time, exempt him from punishment,” Núñez said. “The court has granted Wander Franco a judicial pardon due to the particular circumstances that made him a material victim, but not a legal one.”

The court found that the girl’s mother extorted thousands of dollars from Franco. The woman was sentenced to 10 years in prison on charges of commercial sexual exploitation of a minor and money laundering.

The odds are long that Franco will return to Major League Baseball any time soon. The fact that the court found him guilty of repeatedly having sex with a minor puts him squarely in violation of MLB’s Joint Domestic Violence, Sexual Assault and Child Abuse Policy.

The league is in the midst of an investigation into Franco’s conduct.

“We respect the legal process and the decision issued by the court,” the Rays said in a statement. “This is a serious matter, and our thoughts remain with those affected by the case.

“The Rays will continue to cooperate fully with Major League Baseball as it completes its review under the league’s Joint Domestic Violence, Sexual Assault and Child Abuse Policy. Out of respect for the legal process and all parties involved, we will have no further comment at this time.”

Franco’s situation serves as a cautionary tale for MLB teams that hand out long-term contracts years before players become free agents. The Rays signed a 20-year-old Franco to an 11-year, $182 million deal in November 2021 after he batted .288 with 30 extra-base hits in 70 games as a rookie.

Franco appeared on his way to stardom during a stellar 2023 season, but according to court filings he carried on a relationship with the 14-year-old victim for several months.

An investigation was launched in August 2023. Franco was arrested Jan. 1, 2024, after failing to appear before Dominican authorities who sought to interview him.

Tampa Bay placed him on the restricted list early in the 2024 season, voiding his contract.

Franco was found guilty in a June 2025 trial. Although prosecutors sought a five-year prison sentence, he was given only a two-year suspended sentence by Justice Jakayra Veras.

“Look at us, Wander,” Veras said in open court. “Do not approach minors for sexual purposes. If you don’t like people very close to your age, you have to wait your time.”

An appeals court in December ordered a new trial, which took place Monday and resulted in his pardon.

“Thank God for everything,” Franco said as he embraced his mother, Nancy Aybar, after Judge Nuñez announced the pardon.

As he departed the courthouse, Franco was asked by a reporter how he felt.

“I feel calm,” he said.

BEIRUT, Lebanon, May 22 (UPI) — Lebanon’s agriculture sector emerged as another victim of Israel’s widespread attacks across southern Lebanon, damaging vast areas of farmland, displacing the majority of the region’s farmers and threatening the country’s food security, economic resilience and cultural identity.

The sector, which is key to Lebanon’s economy and plays a vital role in sustaining rural communities and preserving cultural traditions, had not yet recovered from the impacts of the 2023-2024 war between Hezbollah and Israel when it was again hit by resumed hostilities in March.

The fresh escalation severely disrupted farming activities, with an estimated 22.5% of agricultural areas (56,264 hectares) damaged, including farms and greenhouses, and nearly 80% of farmers (more than 6,593) displaced and unable to access their land due to Israeli military activities, according to an updated report released by the Lebanese Ministry of Agriculture on May 5.

The report indicated that the most affected crops in the south are bananas (95%), citrus trees (97%), olives (91%) and small-scale farming, which accounts for 80% of Lebanon’s total agricultural area.

Moreover, more than 1.8 million heads of livestock (cows, goats, sheep and poultry), 29,121 beehives, and 2,030 tons of fish have been lost.

Nizar Hani, the minister of agriculture, said the sector suffered its biggest losses compared with previous wars, adding that agricultural losses have doubled since the March 2 escalation to about $1.5 billion, out of an estimated total war damage that exceeds $20 billion.

Hani said Israel is establishing a buffer zone in southern Lebanon “empty of any life, where no one can pass through, hide or live,” through destruction of entire villages, properties, orchards and olive trees.

He said southern Lebanon produces 70% of the country’s citrus fruits and 90% of its bananas, supplying the local market and exporting to neighboring countries such as Syria, Jordan and Iraq.

And he told UPI that the heavy agricultural losses, inflation, and resulting job losses had a direct impact on food security, with 24% of people living in Lebanon — including Syrian displaced persons, Palestinian refugees and others — requiring immediate assistance.

According to an analysis by the Agriculture Ministry, in collaboration with the U.N.’s Food and Agriculture Organization and the World Food Programme, 1.24 million people were expected to face food insecurity between April and August 2026, marking a significant increase from the November 2025-March 2026 period, when an estimated 874,000 people experienced acute food insecurity.

Nora Ourabah Haddad, the Food and Agriculture Organization representative in Lebanon, warned that damage to irrigation systems, productive infrastructure, livestock systems and agricultural supply chains is further weakening local production capacity.

Haddad referred to substantial declines in the production of milk, meat, eggs and honey after 1,600 farms were affected and more than 1.8 million animals killed during the war.

She said the scale of the damage is “extremely serious” and extends far beyond the affected agricultural land that included some of the country’s most productive farming areas.

“What is at stake today is Lebanon’s capacity to sustain local food production, protect rural livelihoods and preserve the resilience of its agrifood systems at a time when the country is already heavily dependent on food imports and facing severe economic pressures,” she told UPI in an interview.

Haddad said food prices rose by 8.4% in the first quarter of 2026, while transport costs increased by 21%, adding that higher fuel and logistics costs expected to continue to drive up prices.

This time, farmers fear prolonged displacement after being forced to leave their land and homes under Israeli evacuation orders in early March — as many were preparing for the planting season.

Hussein Salameh, head of an agriculture cooperative in the Bint Jbeil-Marjeyoun area, recalled how they fled without having time to take any belongings, move their cows away or release them.

Salameh, an inhabitant of the village of Aitaroun, said the displaced farmers mostly feel “frustrated and abandoned” after exhausting their savings on working their land and repairing their damaged homes when they first returned after the Nov. 27, 2024, cease-fire.

He noted that Hezbollah did not provide them then with any financial assistance, saying it no longer had the funds to do so.

Unlike other displaced employees or skilled workers who could still find work in their areas of refuge, they have lost their only source of livelihood away from their land, he said.

“This is a big tragedy. … Farmers have only their land to live on and survive,” he told UPI.

The fear is that when farmers remain separated from their land, livestock and livelihoods for extended periods, many gradually lose the ability to sustain themselves and may eventually abandon agriculture altogether, Haddad warned.

Helping farmers protect what remains of their livelihoods by providing emergency agricultural support and restoring the country’s agricultural capacity before losses become “irreversible” were emerging priorities for the Food and Agriculture Organization, she said.

However, soil contamination presents another major concern after Lebanon and international rights groups accused Israel of unlawfully using white phosphorus and the herbicide glyphosate during its attacks on southern Lebanon, destroying crops and damaging beehives and livestock.

“This is an international environmental crime,” Hani said, adding that Israel “sprayed everything with glyphosate.”

The destruction and uprooting of old olive trees — some of which have been cultivated and preserved across generations, and in some cases for centuries — was equally painful.

“It is the loss of a living heritage … olive trees are deeply connected to family history, local traditions, food culture and rural economies,” Haddad said, adding that their destruction carries not only economic consequences, but also profound social and cultural impacts on farming communities.

Restoration is possible, but it requires time as newly planted trees require many years before becoming fully productive.

“Some of these ancient olive trees may also contain unique genetic heritage that has adapted to local environmental conditions over centuries, making parts of this loss potentially irreversible from a biodiversity perspective,” Haddad said.

Even if hostilities were to stop today, recovery in southern Lebanon’s agriculture sector would not be immediate and would require extensive international funding and support.

Farmers would also need time to recover from the “deep psychological impact” of being uprooted from their land, after their “cultural and environmental values” were destroyed, according to Hani.

To Salameh, Israel was not just targeting Hezbollah but carrying out what he described as “collective punishment” against everyone living in the south, including those opposed to the Iran-backed group.

“Would such collective punishment ensure security for Israel? Would that bring peace?” he asked.

WASHINGTON — Acting Atty. Gen. Todd Blanche on Tuesday wouldn’t rule out the possibility that people who carried out violence during the Jan. 6, 2021 riot at the U.S. Capitol will be considered for payouts from a new $1.776 billion fund to pay individuals who believe they were targeted politically.

Pressed during a Congressional hearing over whether those who assaulted police officers would be eligible for compensation from the “Anti-Weaponization Fund,” Blanche responded that all people can apply if “they believe they were a victim of weaponization.” The acting attorney general also refused to say whether he would direct those responsible for deciding who receives payments — a commission whose members he is tasked with appointing — to restrict funds to those convicted of violence.

“What I will commit to is making sure that the commissioners are effectively doing their jobs, and that includes setting guidelines as you’re describing,” Blanche told Sen. Jeff Merkley, an Oregon Democrat. The decisions on payouts will be made a five-member commission appointed by the attorney general.

Appearing before Congress for the first time since taking the reins of the Justice Department last month, Blanche was peppered with questions about the fund announced on Monday to compensate those who believe they were mistreated by prior administrations’ Justice Department. Blanche said the fund was “unusual” but not unprecedented, adding that those who benefit will not be limited to Republicans or to people who were investigated or prosecuted by the Biden administration. At one point, Blanche said President Joe Biden’s son, Hunter — who faced gun and tax prosecutions under his father’s administration — could also apply.

Blanche defends $1.8 billion fund

Tuesday’s hearing was meant to address the Trump administration’s budget request for the Justice Department but quickly delved into other controversies that have escalated concerns about the erosion of the law enforcement agency’s tradition of independence from the White House. Blanche defended the creation of the fund without any acknowledgment that the Trump administration has pursued investigations of Trump’s political opponents, sparking criticism that the department is being weaponized in precisely the same way they allege it was under Biden’s administration to prosecute Trump.

In the weeks since assuming control of the Justice Department after Pam Bondi’s firing, Blanche has moved aggressively to advance the president’s priorities — pushing forward cases against Trump’s political foes, cracking down on leaks to media outlets and establishing the new fund to resolve Trump’s $10 billion lawsuit against the Internal Revenue Service over the leak of his tax returns.

Democrats described it as an illegal abuse of power designed to line the pockets of Trump supporters with taxpayer dollars. Sen. Chris Van Hollen, the top Democrat on the Senate appropriations subcommittee holding the hearing, blasted the move as a “pure theft of public funds.”

“Rewarding individuals who committed crimes is obscene,” the Maryland Democrat said. “Every American can see through this illegal, corrupt, self-dealing scheme.”

The fund is in keeping with Trump’s long-running claims that the Justice Department during the Biden administration was weaponized against him, even though then-President Biden himself was investigated during that time and his son was prosecuted. Merrick Garland, who served as attorney general during the Biden administration, has repeatedly denied allegations of politicization and has said his decisions followed facts, the evidence and the law.

Trump administration has been rewriting the history of Jan. 6

The mere possibility that violent rioters at the Capitol could be considered for payouts is consistent with a Trump administration pattern of rewriting the dark history of Jan. 6, a trend that began when the president pardoned and commuted the prison sentences of the participants in the melee and that continued with the Justice Department firing some prosecutors who put them behind bars.

Under questioning from Merkley, Blanche said that he “will definitely encourage the commission” responsible for deciding on the payouts to “take everything into account.” But when asked whether he believes those convicted of violence should be entitled to compensation, Blanche said: “My feelings don’t matter.”

When Merkley suggested that Trump was using the Justice Department to target his political enemies, Blanche replied that this was precisely the sort of “disgusting” behavior of the Biden administration that the fund was meant to address.

“That is completely inappropriate and wrong,’ Merkley said. “There is no comparison to the absolute fair minded pursuit of justice under the previous administration, and this administration’s pursuit of an enemies list.”

Questions over the meaning of ‘weaponization’

In announcing the fund Monday, the Trump administration did not name specific individuals who might stand to benefit from it. The money itself would come from the federal judgment fund, which pays out court judgments and compromise settlements of lawsuits against the government.

Blanche told lawmakers that the Justice Department is committed to “full transparency” in providing public information about beneficiaries of the new fund.

“It’s not limited to Republicans. It’s not limited to Democrats. It’s not limited to January 6th defendants. It’s limited only by the term weaponization,” Blanche said, though the administration has not said how it will define “weaponization.”

Meanwhile, there were signs of discomfort about the fund even among some Republican members of Congress. Senate Majority Leader John Thune told reporters that he’s “not a big fan,” adding that he isn’t sure how the administration intends to use it, but doesn’t “see a purpose for that.”

Thune’s comments come after Louisiana Sen. Bill Cassidy, who lost reelection in a GOP primary on Saturday, called it a “slush fund.”

“We are a nation of laws,” Cassidy said. “You can’t just make up things.”

Richer and Tucker write for the Associated Press. AP reporter Mary Clare Jalonick in Washington contributed to this report.