sex offender: Youth sitting on floor with head on knees

State Juvenile Sex Offense Laws Are Wide-ranging, Harmful, Report Says

Youth in Minnesota who commit sexual offenses can be held on a registry for, at a minimum, 10 years. In nearby North Dakota, the minimum is 15 years. In South Dakota it’s five years. 

What qualifies a young person for a sex offense registry varies in those states too, according to a report released today. In Minnesota “all sexual offenses” mean mandatory registration. In North Dakota it’s mandatory for felony sexual offenses and discretionary for juvenile misdeameanor sex offenses.

Alabama activists say defunding police rooted in legacy of southern organizing article video image

Alabama Activists Say Defunding Police Rooted In Legacy Of Southern Organizing

BIRMINGHAM, Alabama — Black freedom fighters in Alabama once changed this country.

Speaking onstage in Kelly Ingram Park on Juneteenth, Celestine Hood, a woman who witnessed radical change during the Civil Rights Movement, said Alabamians had the power to do it again.

Hood was a child in this park in May 1963, one of the young students participating in a demonstration for racial equality when Police Chief Eugene “Bull” Connor ordered attack dogs and firehoses on protesters. Images of children enduring that brutality enraged the world, sparking international support for the movement.

In May of this year, a video of Minneapolis police officer Derek Chauvin killing George Floyd, an unarmed Black man in custody for allegedly spending counterfeit money, shocked the world again. Protests erupted in big cities and rural towns, demanding an end to police and vigilante killings of Black people.

“We had dogs and firehoses,” Hood said. “You’ve got tear gas. You’ve got rubber bullets. It’s the same fight.”

The crowd of a few hundred — Black, brown and white, young and old —nodded, raised their fists.

Child holds black lives matter sign

In Demanding Justice For Black People, Are We Sacrificing the Peace of Black Youth?

We met at Freedom Plaza. This was my first protest since the killings of George Floyd and Breonna Taylor. People of all ages, abilities, genders, races and ethnicities were there to stand up for justice. 

With an impassioned call to action from one of the organizers, the crowd headed toward Capitol Hill chanting, “No Justice, No Peace.” I fell in line toward the back, taking in the moment and the movement. 

As we walked, I noticed a dad and his son, no more than 3 or 4, walking with us. They were white. As the protest went on, the dad explained each chant to his son, encouraging him with the rhythm of the crowd.

Heroes Do Work In Detention Centers

I'm a licensed clinical social worker providing behavioral health service in a juvenile detention center in a large urban area. My team is subcontracted to provide these services, so when the time came for organizations to scale back to essential services or essential employees only, we ended up shifting to remote work to limit the number of people going in and out of the detention center. With some trial and error and leaders coming together, we were able to adopt a telehealth platform in order to continue services to the best of our ability and to try to meet the needs of the detention center. From the provider side, we were able to say, “Sure, we can be flexible, we want to support the safety measures in place for the youth.” And I'm thinking to myself, when somebody says “We can be flexible” or “That's not a problem, we can try to meet the needs of whomever,” usually flexibility for our team means some sort of strain on somebody else. Essentially it transfers work to someone else to free up yourself to be flexible. 

Same with the center in this scenario.

Auburn: Women wearing masks, carrying bags wait on line outside building

As New York Prisons Open to Visitors Again, Mixed Emotions Run High

AUBURN, New York — On the day she would see her father for the first time in nearly five months as he bounced among three maximum-security prisons, Julianna Bundschuh, 5, hung on the metal fence of Auburn Correctional Facility as if it were at a playground. Near her stood Kristina Abell, who arrived first at 7 a.m. Wednesday with eight boxes of food for her son. Behind Abell was a woman named Courtney who didn’t want to give her last name. She came to see her fiance and was wondering how long these visits would last. None had seen their loved ones since mid-March, when state-run prisons across New York suspended visitation due to coronavirus.