Слідство звинувачує Гладковського у сприянні неправомірній вигоді компанії «Богдан Моторс»
Слідство звинувачує Гладковського у сприянні неправомірній вигоді компанії «Богдан Моторс»
Речниця МЗС України Катерина Зеленко заявила, що Київ висловлює глибоку стурбованість через погіршення ситуації зі свободою висловлення поглядів на окупованій території Криму і Донбасу. Про це вона повідомила на засіданні Комітету з спеціальним політичних питань та питань деколонізації (Четвертий комітет) Генеральної асамблеї ООН.
«Незаконні затримання та арешти стали темною щоденною реальністю для тих, хто критикує окупацію. Ми високо цінуємо увагу генерального секретаря ООН Антоніу Ґутерріша до ситуації в окупованому Криму, який в своїй останній доповіді закликав Росію, як країну-окупанта, гарантувати, що право на свободу вираження може бути реалізовано всіма без будь-якої дискримінації, – йдеться в повідомленні Зеленко в твіттері.
Раніше повідомлялося, що в перебігу загальних дебатів на 42-й сесії Ради ООН з прав людини, Україна закликала Росію припинити масові порушення прав людини на території анексованому Росією Криму.
У вересні Моніторингова місія ООН з прав людини вчергове закликала Росію скасувати заборону Меджлісу кримських татар.
Inspired by the climate activism of a Swedish teenager, Jane Fonda said Friday that she is returning to civil disobedience nearly a half-century after she was last arrested at a protest.
Fonda, known for her opposition to the Vietnam War, was one of 17 climate protesters arrested Friday at the U.S. Capitol on charges of unlawful demonstration by what she called “extremely nice and professional” police. Fellow actor Sam Waterston was also in the group, which included many older demonstrators.
Now 81, Fonda said she plans to get arrested every Friday to advocate for urgent reduction in the use of fossil fuels. She hopes to encourage other older people to protest as well.
Arrests in 2019 not like the 1970s
Getting arrested in 2019, poses some entirely new challenges, Fonda told The Associated Press in an interview.
These days, “they use white plastic things on your wrists instead of metal handcuffs, and that hurts more,” she said.
“The only problem for me is I’m old,” Fonda said. After her first arrest last week, she had trouble getting into the police vehicle because she was handcuffed behind her back and “had nothing to hang on to.”
On Friday, Fonda emerged from a cluster of officers and stepped smartly into the police wagon, her hands cuffed in front of her.
“Thanks, Jane!” some of the protesters called out.
“What would you tell President Trump?” someone in the crowd yelled to her earlier, as she and other protesters stood on their platform in front of the Capitol.
“I wouldn’t waste my breath,” she shouted back, drawing laughter.
Target audience: people like her
The rally drew at least a couple of hundred people, young and old.
While Fonda has taken part in many climate demonstrations, she said Greta Thunberg’s mobilization of international student strikes and other activism, along with the climate writing of author Naomi Klein, prompted her to return to courting arrests for a cause.
Fonda cannot remember precisely which cause led to her last arrest in the 1970s.
She said her target audience now is people like her who try to cut their plastic use and drive fuel-efficient cars, for instance, but otherwise “don’t know what to do and they feel helpless,” she said. “We’re trying to encourage people to become more active, across the age spectrum.”
Young people driving change
Especially in the U.S., young people appear to be driving many of the protests and rallies demanding government action on climate change, University of Maryland sociologist Dana Fisher said.
Nearly half of the people who turned out for a September climate protest in Washington were college age or younger, and a quarter were 17 or younger, for instance, Fisher said. Most were female.
On the other hand, it was older, white females who turned out for earlier protests during the Trump administration, like the women’s marches, Fisher noted.
“There’s a whole group of very activated, middle-age white women. They woke up after the election, and they haven’t gone back to bed,” Fisher said.
So far, those people have not been involved in the youth climate movement. Fonda’s efforts could “get them out there,” Fisher said.
If her efforts misfire, Fisher added, the older people risk making the movement look uncool.
Asked how she would answer any young climate activist who complained of being co-opted, Fonda said, “I would hug them.”
And she did just that with some of the teenagers and other young activists she invited up to the stage to speak.
Praise from young, old
“It’s a good thing that Jane is doing, to try to shift the paradigm so it’s not just falling on young people” to rally the public on fossil fuel emissions, said Joe Markus, a 19-year-old Washington-area student attending Friday’s protest.
Leslie Wharton, 63, from Bethesda, Maryland, sat out the Vietnam War protests that drew out Fonda. She came out Friday as part of a group calling itself Elders Climate Action.
Lots of people of all ages are worried about climate change and want to do something, Wharton said, but “us elders are retired or part-time. We can take the time.”
New York City is an incredible collection of diversity. People from around the world come to live and work here, but that doesn’t mean that racism isn’t a problem. That’s why the NYC Commission on Human Rights backed a law that can impose a hefty fine on people who use the term “Illegal Alien” in a hateful way. Nina Vishneva has this story narrated by Anna Rice.
At a time when hate crimes are on the rise in the United States, federal prosecutions of such offenses have declined sharply under the administration of President Donald Trump, according to data released this week by the Justice Department.
Since the enactment of a landmark federal hate crimes law 10 years ago, federal prosecutors have charged more than 330 people with hate crime offenses, including more than 70 people during the past three years, the Justice Department said Wednesday.
Although the department said it has “strengthened its hate crimes prosecution program” in recent years, the figures show a decline of nearly 38% in the number of people charged with hate crimes annually over the past three years when compared with prosecutions during the last seven years of the previous administration. This comes as bias-motivated crimes against Blacks, Jews, Muslims, LGBTQ people and other protected classes have continued to rise in recent years.
The Justice Department did not respond to repeated requests for an explanation for the decrease.
Focus on massacres?
Brian Levin, director of the center for the study of Hate and Extremism at the California State University, San Bernardino, said one reason may be the Justice Department’s recent focus on high-profile cases with multiple fatalities.
“Maybe they’re putting their resources [there] because we had these big massacres,” Levin said.
However, Levin added, a “38% drop in prosecutions at a time when hate crimes have actually increased significantly is a cause for concern and certainly requires some kind of explanation from the government with respect to this.”
According to the most recent data from the FBI, hate crimes rose by more than 20% in 2016 and 2017. Figures for 2018 will be released next month.
Justice Department officials say combating hate crime remains one of their top priorities.
“Hate crimes are especially reprehensible because of the toll they take on families, communities, and our nation as a whole. Precisely because they are fueled by bias against specific people and groups, they also are a grave affront to America’s foundational principles and ideals,” said Attorney General William P. Barr said in a statement.
Cases brought this year
In touting the prosecution figures on the 10th anniversary of the Matthew Shepard and James Byrd, Jr., Hate Crimes Prevention Act, the Justice Department highlighted several cases brought under the law this year.
In January, Robert Bowers, a white nationalist accused of killing 11 people and injuring six others at a Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, synagogue, was charged with 13 violations of the Matthew Shepard Act on top of 44 charges he was facing. He faces a maximum penalty of life without parole.
In May, John T. Earnest, a 19-year-old inspired by two mosque massacres in New Zealand, was charged in a 113-count indictment, including 54 counts under the Matthew Shepard Act, for a deadly shooting at a synagogue and the arson of a mosque in southern California.
In June, James Alex Fields Jr., a white supremacist, was sentenced to life in prison for driving a car into a crowd of counterprotesters at the “United the Right” rally in Charlottesville, Virginia, in August 2017, killing one woman and injuring dozens. Fields had pleaded guilty to 29 violations of the Matthew Shepard law.
Who were Shepard and Byrd?
The law is named after two men whose 1998 murders shocked the nation: Shepard, a 21-year-old college student in Wyoming who was tortured and killed for being gay, and Byrd, a 49-year-old African American who was tied to a truck, dragged and decapitated by two white supremacists in Texas. It expanded the scope of hate crimes to cover attacks on the basis of gender, sexual orientation, gender identify or disability.
“I think the Department of Justice is certainly doing an excellent job with respect to certain high profile multifatality cases,” Levin said. “What I’m concerned about is the decline overall.”
Federal hate crime prosecutions represent a fraction of overall criminal prosecutions of bias offenses, which take place at the state level. Currently, all but three states have hate crime laws on their books.
Генеральний прокурор України Руслан Рябошапка призначив своїм заступником прокурора Автономної республіки Крим Гюндуза Мемадова. Про це повідомляє пресслужба ГПУ.
«Генеральний прокурор Руслан Рябошапка 18 жовтня 2019 підписав наказ про призначення Гюндуз Мамедова на посаду заступника генерального прокурора», – мовиться у повідомленні.
Мамедов був призначений прокурором АРК в серпні 2016 року.
Прокурор АРК народився в 1974 році в сім’ї радянського і азербайджанського вченого Айдина Мамедова. Мамедов в 1996 році закінчив Одеський державний університет імені І.І. Мечникова, а в 2013 році – Одеський національний економічний університет.
З 1996 року прокурор працював в прокуратурі Приморського району Одеси на посадах від помічника прокурора до першого заступника прокурора Приморського району міста Одеси Одеської області. З 2012 року до 2013 року працював в апараті прокуратури Київської області. З грудня 2013 року по липень 2014 року Гюндуз Мамедов працював на посаді начальника слідчого відділу Дніпровської екологічної прокуратури. У липні 2014 року призначений прокурором Одеси, в грудні 2015 року – заступником прокурора Одеської області.
Netflix has released a movie based on the so-called Panama Papers despite an attempt by two lawyers to stop the streaming premiere.
“The Laundromat,” starring Gary Oldman, Antonio Banderas and Meryl Streep, debuted Friday on Netflix after a limited release in theaters.
Two Panamanian lawyers, Jurgen Mossack and Ramon Fonseca, sued Netflix in federal court in Connecticut this week, saying the movie defamed them and could prejudice criminal cases against them. Netflix asked a judge to dismiss the suit but did not address the allegations.
The Panama Papers were more than 11 million documents leaked from the two lawyers’ firm that shed light on how the rich hide their money.
A judge ruled there was no valid reason to file the case in Connecticut and ordered it transferred to the Los Angeles-area federal court district.
John McAnear, a 77-year-old Air Force veteran, stood in an audience of hundreds in suburban Des Moines with an oxygen tank at his side, wheezing as he implored Pete Buttigieg to protect the Department of Veterans Affairs.
The Democratic presidential hopeful skipped any attempt to bond over their mutual military service. Instead, Buttigieg offered a list of proposals to fix the VA.
Of the many ways the 37-year-old mayor of South Bend, Indiana, is different from his better-known rivals, there is this: his ingrained emotional restraint in a show-all-tell-all era.
“You don’t really get the warm fuzzies from him,” said Lisa Ann Spilman, a retired Air Force officer who attended Buttigieg’s event. “But I really like how intelligent and down-to-earth he is.”
As Buttigieg, whose campaign appears better positioned organizationally in Iowa and financially overall than former Vice President Joe Biden’s, attempts to climb into the top tier of Democrats, voters will be taking a measure of him in all ways, including whether he can make the kind of personal connection they have come to expect, at least since Bill Clinton showed he could feel their pain.
Buttigieg chafes at being labeled an emotionless technocrat, and his supporters cite his intellectual agility as his main draw, particularly against someone like President Donald Trump, whose strained relationship with the truth is so frequently on display.
In a candidate debate Tuesday, Buttigieg showed rare outward fire, pointedly challenging Senator Elizabeth Warren on her health care plan and former Representative Beto O’Rourke on gun control. “I don’t need lessons from you on courage, political or personal,” Buttigieg said to O’Rourke.
“I don’t mind being a little professorial at times,” Buttigieg acknowledged in a conversation with reporters last month. He added, “Sometimes I think I’m misread because I’m laid back. I’m misread as being bloodless.”
But to describe him as wooden or mechanical gets it wrong. Upbeat in his trademark white shirt with sleeves half-rolled, Buttigieg projects energy and youthful diligence.
He’s not a fiery podium speaker like Senator Bernie Sanders. He isn’t given to big hugs or open self-reflection, like Biden and Warren.
In interactions with voters, Buttigieg’s style is evolving. During a late-summer stop in southeast Iowa, he noted his mother-in-law “is alive because of the Affordable Care Act,” but he moved on without describing her illness or asking if his audience had similar experiences.
It’s notable because Buttigieg is trying to frame his message around empathy in what he calls the nation’s “crisis of belonging.”
And it does not always work. When the question turned to cancer at the Iowa State Fair, he said before discussing his plans, “Cancer took my father earlier this year, so this is personal,” skipping over any elaboration of the pillar Joe Buttigieg was to his only child.
When the questioner noted her family’s loss, he said politely, “I’m sorry. So, we’re in the same boat,” and then turned to a discussion of research.
Buttigieg’s mother, Anne Montgomery, said that in boyhood her son was fun, curious, literate and multitalented but “a reserved person.”
“It’s been a part of his life for a long time,” she said in an Associated Press interview.
What Buttigieg suggests is his tendency to “compartmentalize” has been a liability for some other candidates, most notably for the 1988 Democratic presidential nominee, Michael Dukakis.
He offered an almost programmatic answer when asked during a nationally televised debate if he would support the death penalty if his wife were raped and murdered.
Dukakis, who lost in a landslide, acknowledges today that he “botched it” and that his answer fed the narrative that the pragmatic, policy-oriented Massachusetts governor was emotionless.
Buttigieg, Dukakis told the AP, is warm and thoughtful, “but he also happens to be very, very bright, and that, I think, is the biggest part of his appeal.” Dukakis has endorsed his home state senator, Warren.
“He’s not a typical politician,” said Kelsie Goodman, an associate principal for a Des Moines area high school who first saw Buttigieg at an event last month. “And he’s an intellectual judo master.”
As the campaign progresses, there are signs Buttigieg is becoming more comfortable opening up.
At an outdoor event at Des Moines’ Theodore Roosevelt High School last Saturday, he ignited laughter and cheers for his answer to a question about how he would approach debating Trump.
“We know what he’s going to do, and it just doesn’t get to me. Look, I can deal with bullies. I’m gay and I grew up in Indiana. I’ll be fine,” he deadpanned.
Concern for husband
In a rare personal revelation, he told reporters on a bus ride across northern Iowa that he dreaded the thought of his husband, Chasten, being subjected to the cruelties of modern politics.
“Another agonizing feeling is to watch that happening to someone you love,” he said. “At least if it’s happening to me, I can go out there and fight back.”
Still, what Buttigieg’s most vocal advocates praise as his coolness so far seems to be doing little to dampen views of him in Iowa, where he has invested heavily in time and money in hopes of a breakthrough finish. In a September CNN/Des Moines Register/Mediacom poll, 69% of likely Iowa caucus participants said they viewed Buttigieg favorably, second only to Warren.
Where Buttigieg clearly connects personally is along the rope line with supporters and when the merely curious meet him after he leaves the stage.
In these moments, he has met people who describe their own stories of stepping out of the shadows, as Buttigieg did coming out as a gay man in 2015. Buttigieg regularly mentions Iowa teenager Bridgette Bissell, who described the courage she took from meeting him to announce she was autistic.
Similar moments, Buttigieg said, prompted him to build his campaign around repairing Americans’ sense of connectedness.
In Waterloo recently, local organizer Caitlin Reedy introduced Buttigieg to hundreds at a riverside rally, explaining that she was drawn to him by having experienced the uneasiness of sharing her diagnosis with diabetes.
Leaning forward in his chair on the bus the next day, Buttigieg said the campaign was teaching him how people — feeling left out racially, ethnically, culturally, economically — yearn to connect.
“Where it comes from is going through the process of understanding that you’re different,” he said, “and then understanding that that’s part of what you have to offer.”
“Join me in picturing that kind of presidency,” he told more than 600 in Waterloo, “not for the glorification of the president, but for the unification of the people.”