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What To Do When You're Stopped By Police - The ACLU & Elon James White

What To Do When You're Stopped By Police - The ACLU & Elon James White

Know Anyone Who Thinks Racial Profiling Is Exaggerated? Watch This, And Tell Me When Your Jaw Drops.


This video clearly demonstrates how racist America is as a country and how far we have to go to become a country that is civilized and actually values equal justice. We must not rest until this goal is achieved. I do not want my great grandchildren to live in a country like we have today. I wish for them to live in a country where differences of race and culture are not ignored but valued as a part of what makes America great.

Saturday, April 25, 2026

BOMBSHELL report exposes how Supreme Court EMPOWERS Trump agenda through shadow docket rulings

 


“The Inside Story of Five Days That Remade the Supreme Court

The New York Times obtained secret memos revealing the origins of the Supreme Court’s “shadow docket,” a practice of making major decisions without the usual procedures. In 2016, the court, led by Chief Justice Roberts, blocked President Obama’s Clean Power Plan, marking a significant shift in its operations. The memos show a clash between Obama’s desire to address climate change and Roberts’s concern over executive power, highlighting the contentious nature of the decision.

The birth of the Supreme Court’s shadow docket has long been a mystery.

Secret memos obtained by The New York Times illuminate the origins of the court’s now-routine “shadow docket” rulings on presidential power.


Just after 6 p.m. on a February evening in 2016, the Supreme Court issued a cryptic, one paragraph ruling that sent both climate policy and the court itself spinning in new directions.

For two centuries, the court had generally handled major cases at a stately pace that encouraged care and deliberation, relying on written briefs, oral arguments and in-person discussions. The justices composed detailed opinions that explained their thinking to the public and rendered judgment only after other courts had weighed in.

But this time, the justices were sprinting to block a major presidential initiative. By a 5-to-4 vote along partisan lines, the order halted President Barack Obama’s Clean Power Plan, his signature environmental policy. They acted before any other court had addressed the plan’s lawfulness. The decision consisted of only legal boilerplate, without a word of reasoning.

At the time, the ruling seemed like a curious one-off. But that single paragraph turned out to be a sharp and lasting break. That night marks the birth, manylegal experts believe, of the court’s modern “shadow docket,” the secretive track that the Supreme Court has since used to make many major decisions, including granting President Trump more than 20 key victories on issues from immigration to agency power.

Since that night a decade ago, the logic behind the Supreme Court’s pivotal 2016 order has remained a mystery. Why did a majority of the justices bypass time-tested procedures and opt for a new way of doing business?

The answer would remain secret for generations, legal experts predicted. “We’ll never know (at least, until our grandkids can read the justices’ internal papers from that time period),” Stephen Vladeck, a law professor at Georgetown, wrote in a newsletter in February marking the anniversary of the order.

The New York Times has obtained those papers and is now publishing them, bringing the origins of the Supreme Court’s shadow docket into the light.

The 16 pages of memos, exchanged in a five-day dash, provide an extraordinarily rare window into the court, showing how the justices talk to one another outside of public view.

Writing on formal letterhead, but addressing one another by their first names and signing off with their initials, they sound notes of irritation, air grievances and plead for more time. In addition to the usual legal materials, they cite a blog post and, twice, a television interview. They sometimes engage with one another’s arguments. But they often simply talk past each other.

In public, Chief Justice John G. Roberts Jr. has cultivated a reputation for care and caution. The papers reveal a different side of him. At a critical moment for the country and the court, the papers show, he acted as a bulldozer in pushing to stop Mr. Obama’s plan to address the global climate crisis.

When colleagues warned the chief justice that he was proposing an unprecedented move, he was dismissive. “I recognize that the posture of this stay request is not typical,” he wrote. But he argued that the Obama plan, which aimed to regulate coal-fired plants, was “the most expensive regulation ever imposed on the power sector,” and too big, costly and consequential for the court not to act immediately.

In the Trump era, he and the other conservative justices have repeatedly empowered the president through their shadow docket rulings. By contrast, the papers reveal a court wielding those same powers to block Mr. Obama. Justice Samuel A. Alito Jr. warned that if the court failed to stop the president, its own “institutional legitimacy” would be threatened.

The court’s liberals pushed back, but compared with their recent slashing dissents, they were not especially forceful, mostly confining their arguments to procedures and timing.

The papers expose what critics have called the weakness at the heart of the shadow docket: an absence of the kind of rigorous debate that the justices devote to their normal cases.

After obtaining the papers, The Times confirmed their authenticity with several people familiar with the deliberations and shared them with a spokeswoman for the court. The Times posed detailed questions to the justices who wrote the memos; they did not respond.

Sign up for the Docket newsletter.  Adam Liptak helps you make sense of legal developments in a turbulent time.

Since that breakneck February 2016 exchange, the emergency docket has swelled into a major part of the court’s business, as the justices have short-circuited the deliberations of lower courts. The decisions are technically temporary, but are often hugely consequential.

Rulings with no explanation or reasoning, like the sparse paragraph from that February night, have become routine. The emergency docket is now a central legacy of the court led by Chief Justice Roberts.

Read a decade later, the memos suggest that none of the justices fully appreciated what they were doing: embarking on a questionable new way of operating.

A Constitutional Collision

Smokestacks on the banks of a river.
A coal-fired power plant in Lawrenceburg, Ind., in 2016. At the end of 2015, President Barack Obama was trying to put his signature environmental policy, the Clean Power Plan, into effect.Ty Wright for The New York Times

The 2016 case was a collision between the principles and personalities of Mr. Obama and Chief Justice Roberts.

The president was under enormous pressure to address the global climate crisis. He had campaigned on that promise, then for eight years as the planet heated, he failed to get major environmental legislation through Congress. With his term about to end, this was his last chance to act.

The chief justice was eager to assert his institution’s authority and to rein in Mr. Obama’s Environmental Protection Agency, which he believed had sidestepped a recent ruling.

The two men, both cerebral, polished Harvard Law graduates, had long posed a puzzle: How could such smooth personalities create so much friction?

Mr. Obama had been one of just 22 senators to vote against Chief Justice Roberts’s confirmation in 2005, saying that the nominee had “far more often used his formidable skills on behalf of the strong in opposition to the weak.” Four years later, the two men managed to botch the simple task of reciting the presidential oath at Mr. Obama’s first inauguration.

True, Chief Justice Roberts had cast the decisive vote in 2012 to save the centerpiece of the Affordable Care Act, Mr. Obama’s signature legislative achievement. But that was approved by Congress.

After Republicans won control of Congress, Mr. Obama responded by pushing the boundaries of presidential authority, promising that his administration would act on pressing problems “with or without Congress.” He tightened gun regulations and granted deportation relief to millions of undocumented immigrants.

The chief justice and some of his colleagues were watching warily, concerned the president was going past what the Constitution allowed him to do on his own. In a 2014 opinion written by Justice Antonin Scalia, the court warned Mr. Obama that he needed to tread carefully in setting environmental policy without congressional approval.

That statement was one of the early articulations of what would come to be known as the major questions doctrine, saying that on important matters, executive branch agencies could act only with clear direction from Congress.

Then, in June 2015, the court ruled against the Obama administration in a case involving mercury emissions. The next day, an E.P.A. official, Janet McCabe, made what now looks like a tactical error. She issued a statement that, according to the papers, offended the chief justice and struck him as an attempt to sideline the court.

She asserted that the court’s ruling had come too late to matter.

“The majority of power plants are already in compliance or well on their way to compliance,” Ms. McCabe wrote on the agency’s website.

In a recent interview, Ms. McCabe said she had not meant “to be disrespectful of the Supreme Court or the judicial system” and was merely stating a legal reality. Indeed, over more than three years of litigation, no court had stayed the mercury regulation and power plants had already taken major steps to conform.

With the clock ticking down on Mr. Obama’s presidency and the global Paris climate accords looming, the White House tried to craft a signature piece of environment legislation that could survive the court’s scrutiny.

In October 2015, the E.P.A. issued Mr. Obama’s Clean Power Plan, which aimed to shift the power sector from reliance on coal to natural gas, wind and solar. The goal was an “aggressive transformation in the domestic energy industry,” according to a White House fact sheet.

Its legal basis was open to question. The agency said it was authorized by a seldom-used provision of an old law, the Clean Air Act of 1970. Critics responded that it was unlikely that Congress would have authorized a sweeping overhaul of the nation’s power supply in such an obscure provision.

When more than two dozen states, along with business groups, quickly sued to stop the program, Obama administration lawyers readied for an extended fight, they said in recent interviews. The case was surely going to wind its way to the Supreme Court eventually, and given the tension between the conservative justices and the Obama administration, they knew it might not survive.

The challenge to the regulation went straight to the D.C. Circuit, which set it down for a prompt argument, but refused to halt the plan in the meantime. At that point the challengers, led by West Virginia, tried to take a shortcut. Instead of waiting for the appeals court to hear the case, they went straight to the Supreme Court, asking the justices to pause the plan for the duration of the litigation, including an eventual possible return trip to the Supreme Court.

Both sides agreed that it was an unusual request.

“This had never been done,” Elbert Lin, who was West Virginia’s solicitor general, acknowledged in an interview.

At the Justice Department, lawyers involved with the case said they were not terribly worried. To be sure, the court sometimes granted emergency applications from death row inmates and in fast-moving election disputes. But the court had never intervened on an emergency basis to shut down a major presidential initiative.

“In football parlance,” said Avi S. Garbow, the E.P.A.’s general counsel at the time, “we would call it a Hail Mary.”

A Five-Day Sprint

West Virginia’s emergency request landed with Chief Justice Roberts on Jan. 26, 2016, just as the Supreme Court was scattering into vacation mode for an annual midwinter break.

Justice Clarence Thomas retreated to Florida to teach a law school class. Justice Stephen G. Breyer delivered a lecture in Paris. Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg gave a talk in Italy billed as a conversation with “the Notorious RBG.” Justice Antonin Scalia sped through Asia, where he promoted a book, met with the prime minister of Singapore and schmoozed with local lawyers over drinks at a rooftop bar.

In the meantime, Chief Justice Roberts worked speedily, ordering the Obama administration to respond in just eight days.

To better understand what happened next, The Times spoke to 10 people, liberals and conservatives, who were familiar with the deliberations over the pivotal emergency order and who spoke on the condition of anonymity because confidentiality was a condition of their employment.

At the court, word was passing among the clerks, who serve as brokers among the nine chambers: Some of the conservative justices were taking the long-shot application seriously.

It was initially hard to tell how the vote would fall, people familiar with the discussions said. The Supreme Court felt less predictable back then, more alive with debate. The court was technically divided 5 to 4 between justices appointed by Republicans and Democrats, but Justice Kennedy, appointed by President Ronald Reagan, was a true swing vote, “a persuadable person,” as one of those people put it. The term before, he had written the majority opinionto establish a constitutional right to same-sex marriage.

On Feb. 5, the internal correspondence obtained by The Times shows, the chief justice circulated a blast of a memo, insisting that the court halt the president’s plan.

His arguments were forceful, quick, and filled with confident predictions. The court was going to give the case a full hearing eventually, he forecast. At that point, the justices would vote to overturn the Obama plan, he said, because it went beyond the boundaries of the Clean Air Act.

For now, the chief justice contended that the court had to act immediately because the energy industry “must make changes to business plans today.”

“Absent a stay, the Clean Power Plan will cause (and is causing) substantial and irreversible reordering of the domestic power sector before this court has an opportunity to review its legality,” he wrote.

In his final paragraph, the chief justice again told colleagues that the E.P.A. had done an end run around the court with the mercury regulation just months before and said the agency had signaled that it was planning to do the same thing again.

The chief justice cited an unusual source for that last point, one that would not ordinarily figure in a Supreme Court opinion: an interview with the BBC in which the E.P.A. administrator at the time, Gina McCarthy, had said “we are baking” the Clean Power Plan “into the system.”


“The comments of the E.P.A. administrator herself indicate that without immediate action from this court, this rule will become functionally irreversible.”

Chief Justice John G. Roberts Jr.


In the memo, he weighed no potential downsides of his proposal and considered no alternatives.

Justice Breyer responded later that day to the chief’s memo but did not address all its points. Such stays were unusual, he wrote, stating his objections mildly.

He skipped over the question of whether the plan was lawful, asking only: Why the rush? The circuit court had already set a date to hear the case in June. The first deadline for power plants to reduce their emissions was six years away; full compliance was not required until 2030. That was plenty of time for the case to play out through the legal system.

The chief wrote right back the next day sounding irritated and blunt.

Speed was vital, he said, because environmental regulation was going to be very expensive for states and the power industry. The sums involved could approach $480 billion, he asserted, and industry groups would have to start preparations immediately.

“Without a stay of the E.P.A.’s rule, both the states and private industry will suffer irreparable harm from a rule that is — in my view — highly unlikely to survive,” he wrote. He was predicting the ultimate outcome of a case that had barely begun to be litigated.

Seeing how little headway Justice Breyer had made, Justice Elena Kagan sounded an alarm. In a memo on Feb. 7, she warned the chief justice that he was departing from the court’s long-established way of doing business.


“The unique nature of the relief sought in these applications gives me real pause.”

Justice Elena Kagan


Court action at this point in the process would be “unprecedented,” she added. She mentioned that she was inclined to find that the Obama plan was lawful, but she said the thin briefing made it difficult for her “to determine with any confidence which side is ultimately likely to prevail.”

Justice Alito issued a salvo on the same day as Justice Kagan, with neither of them addressing the other. Echoing the chief justice’s sense of insult and suspicion about the Obama administration, he wrote that the E.P.A. appeared to be trying to render the court irrelevant.


“A failure to stay this rule threatens to render our ability to provide meaningful judicial review — and by extension, our institutional legitimacy — a nullity.”

Justice Samuel A. Alito Jr.


The chief justice and Justices Scalia, Thomas and Alito wanted to halt the Obama plan, according to people familiar with the deliberations. Justices Breyer, Ginsburg, Sotomayor and Kagan were opposed. (It is not clear whether Justices Scalia, Thomas or Ginsburg set out their reasons in writing.)

As usual, the decision would come down to Justice Kennedy.

On Feb. 9, he dashed off a quick, three-sentence note. He believed that the Supreme Court would ultimately stay the Clean Power Plan soon anyway, and that there was no reason to put off the inevitable. He was voting with the chief justice.

Over just five days, the justices had decided the issue. Even as they debated the Obama plan’s possible burden on the power industry, in the entire chain of correspondence obtained by The Times, not a single justice, conservative or liberal, mentioned the dangers of a warming planet as one of the possible harms the court should consider.

At 6:20 p.m. on Tuesday, Feb. 9, the court alerted the public to its decision, releasing the cryptic one-paragraph order.

To the public, the White House tried to downplay the speed and starkness of its loss, calling it merely “a bump in the road” on a call with reporters. But behind closed doors, officials were astonished that the court had intervened so quickly, they said later. Mr. Garbow, the E.P.A.’s general counsel, was meeting with Ms. McCarthy about the water crisis in Flint, Mich., when the order landed. An aide interrupted, handing him a note that he said he read with “utter shock and surprise.”

These days, justices who disagree with emergency orders often protest in vigorous written dissents. In 2016, the four liberal justices merely noted they had voted against the order. Although their private memos included extended arguments against the majority’s approach, they said nothing more in public.

In the moment, the case looked like an outlier, not a turn toward a new way of operating, according to people involved. Nor did it look like a final decision on climate policy. Hillary Clinton was the strong favorite to win the presidency later that year. With her election, the court would be poised to take a step to the left.

Then, just four days after the court’s decision, many of the certainties, projections and assumptions that the justices had made in those rushed memos started to collapse.

The New Normal

The following Saturday morning, Justice Scalia failed to appear for breakfast at a weekend hunting retreat in Texas. Hours later he was found dead. As far as the public record reveals, the vote on the Clean Power Plan was his last. Had the court not acted with exceptional speed, the case would have ended in a deadlock and the Obama plan would have stayed in place.

But not for long. With Mr. Trump’s election that November, the plan was doomed as a practical matter.

In the end, the legacy of those five days was more about the transformation of the court than it was about the fate of the Obama effort to confront climate change.

The litigation continued but became a ghost ship of a case after Mr. Trump replaced it with his own regulation. In 2022, this time following normal procedures, the Supreme Court concluded that the Clean Air Act did not authorize the E.P.A. to issue sweeping regulations across the power sector to address climate change.

Since then, even as the court’s approval ratings dropped, applications like the one it confronted a decade ago have proliferated, swamping the court’s ordinary work.

This is partly a consequence of a gridlocked Congress and presidents willing to push the boundaries of executive power, particularly Mr. Trump.

But it is also the result of the justices’ decision to entertain emergency requests like the one in 2016, warping procedures that had developed over centuries.

In an appearance this month at the University of Alabama, Justice Sonia Sotomayor reflected on the unceasing flood of emergency applications.

“We’ve done it to ourselves,” she said.

Julie Tate contributed research. Ann E. Marimow contributed reporting.

Produced by Jenni Lee, Matt Ruby and Tina Zhou.

A correction was made on 

April 19, 2026

An earlier version of this article mischaracterized in one reference a measure the Environmental Protection Agency issued in October 2015. It was a regulation, not legislation.

Jodi Kantor is an investigative reporter currently focused on the Supreme Court. Her work has spurred cultural and legal shifts in the United States and across the globe.

Adam Liptak is the chief legal affairs correspondent of The Times and the host of The Docket, a newsletter on legal developments. A graduate of Yale Law School, he practiced law for 14 years before joining The Times in 2002.“

‘I saw the backlash coming’: civil rights activist Kimberlé Crenshaw on America and race

 

I saw the backlash coming’: civil rights activist Kimberlé Crenshaw on America and race

“She coined the term ‘intersectionality’ and helped to develop critical race theory, now her life’s work is under attack by Washington’s war on ‘woke’. As her memoir is published, the legal scholar explains why she’ll never stop speaking truth to power

Kimberlé Crenshaw.
Kimberlé Crenshaw. Photograph: Lelanie Foster

When Donald Trump returned to office in January last year, one of his first acts was to sign an executive order intended to cut federal funding for any school teaching what the administration defined as “critical race theory”. A raft of other orders mandated the termination of DEI (diversity, equity and inclusion) personnel, offices and training across the federal government. Federal agencies began flagging hundreds of words to avoid or eliminate, including “intersectional” and “intersectionality”. All of which has amounted to 40 years of Kimberlé Crenshaw’s work being literally and deliberately erased.

For decades, the 66-year-old legal scholar has been naming things that powerful people would prefer remain unnamed. In 1989, she coined the term intersectionality to describe the way race and gender overlap to shape lived experience, often in ways the law fails to recognise. Around the same time, she was one of a group of African American scholars who created the framework that came to be known as “critical race theory”, which sought to examine how racism is embedded in legal systems rather than simply enacted through individual prejudice. Now, Crenshaw’s ideas are being contested like never before.

“Unfortunately, I did see this coming,” she tells me over a video call from the California offices of the African American Policy Forum, the thinktank she co-founded. We are calling to discuss Crenshaw’s new memoir, Backtalker, but the conversation soon shifts. “The fact that they are targeting this … it is because they understand the power of these ideas, the power of this history.” Behind her, posters reading “History repeats when we forget” and “The freedom to learn is the freedom to live” hang alongside shelves of critical race theory texts and Black history books the likes of which have, in some states, become politically radioactive.

What makes the intensity of this backlash striking is how recently Crenshaw’s work entered mainstream public consciousness. Until a few years ago, ideas such as intersectionality and critical race theory remained largely within the domain of legal scholarship, academic debate and activist vernacular. It wasn’t until 2020, when a loose coalition of conservative activists, media figures and politicians began elevating them as political flashpoints, that they were thrust into the centre of the culture wars. In the ensuing five years, this snowballed into all-out war against “woke”, with critical race theory as its ultimate bogeyman. It became a byword for liberal overreach, a catch-all for everything that was wrong with the US in the eyes of the conservative right.

“Trump jumped on a bandwagon started by a few rightwing propagandists, claiming that intersectionality and critical race theory were anti-white, anti-male and anti-American,” she says. “Fox News amplified this, and within weeks, these ideas were mentioned more than they had been in the previous four decades.”

Crenshaw, true to form, is not shy about naming what she considers to be the problem. “One of the keys of fascism is control of the nation’s narrative,” she says. “That, alongside creating a group of people that are legitimate targets of exclusion – an us and them – allows for the autocrat to be seen as the embodiment of the essential nation. And in the United States, we come prefabricated for that dimension of fascism to set into our politics.

“Why is it that so many white Americans are willing to continue to vote for a president that is demolishing democracy, so long as he’s willing to affirm them effectively as true Americans?” she continues. “Because of the idea that those over there are different from us. They don’t really belong. That is the way fascism works.”

It is clearly in Crenshaw’s DNA to confront injustice, as is evidenced in Backtalker, which chronicles her journey from witnessing inequality as a child to challenging entrenched power structures in law, academia and politics. “Being a backtalker is like being lactose intolerant,” she writes. “There is BS that I cannot digest. To accept anything close to second‑class status as the price of belonging sickens me.”

Born in Ohio in 1959, on the verge of the civil rights movement, Crenshaw grew up at a time of expanding yet restricted possibilities. She watched that tension unfolding in real time, in the speeches of Malcolm X and Martin Luther King Jr on television, and in discussions around the kitchen table, where her parents, dedicated anti-racist activists, treated politics as a daily practice. “As a Black child, I had early inklings that differences would matter in my life, even if I couldn’t name them,” she says.

Kimberlé Crenshaw at home in New York.
Crenshaw at home in New York. Photograph: Lelanie Foster

One such inkling came when her family moved to the predominantly white suburb of Canton, Ohio. “When we arrived, there were children playing everywhere,” she remembers. “I was excited.” But almost overnight, the children vanished. Neighbours treated the new family as intruders and shouted slurs when they walked by; an estate agent knocked on their door urging a quick sale.

Perhaps the most formative incident came when she was five years old, and was the only girl in her all‑white class who was not given the opportunity to play the princess, Thorn Rosa, in a school performance. “Thorn Rosa marks the stirring of my nascent awareness that my colour and my girlness were linked,” she writes.

“You push that doubt down until something happens that forces it open,” she tells me. “You realise that how others see you will shape your experiences. And that realisation is traumatic.”

What mattered, she says, was that those moments were not dismissed. “I credit my parents for taking them seriously,” she says. “They refused to minimise what I experienced, even as a young child. That affirmation was freeing, it told me my feelings were grounded in reality and gave me permission to understand them.”

It was tragedy that would, in many ways, become the making of the young Crenshaw. She was eight years old when Martin Luther King Jr was assassinated in 1968 – a before-and-after moment in her life. The following day, young Black activists in Canton directed schoolchildren to the local church for a hastily organised memorial service. Crowded into pews, everyone was silent when the activists asked if anyone had anything to say about Dr King. No one moved. It was Crenshaw who broke the silence, exhorting the crowd not to let his death be the end of the freedom struggle. “We pick up where he left off,” she recalls saying. “We continue to walk in his footsteps. They can’t kill his dream for us – not if we won’t let them.”

Further devastation followed. A year later, her father, an apparently healthy 34-year-old, died suddenly, leaving the family reeling. Not long after, her older brother Mantel was shot and killed while at university. The circumstances were never fully explained, and justice never came. She writes of that period with unflinching candour: “Happiness was dead.” These losses left an indelible mark, sharpening her awareness of the unevenness of justice in a world already structured by racial and social inequities.

Crenshaw arrived at Cornell University in 1978, to a campus shaped by the afterlives of civil rights struggle and Black student organising. It was there that she entered into a relationship with a fellow student that became physically abusive. In one incident, he beat her and tried to throw her from the window of her 10th-floor dorm room.

“We were eye-to-eye when he threw the first punch,” she writes in Backtalker. “Pressed out of denial, I woke to the fact that he was going to beat the daylights out of me.”

What followed unsettled her understanding of community more profoundly than the violence itself. Rather than rallying around her, many of her peers – fellow Black students and friends – closed ranks around him. To involve authorities, they told her, would be to expose a Black man to a system already predisposed against him. The implication was that her suffering as a woman should be subordinated to a broader racial solidarity.

“The way that sexual violence against Black women has long been justified – framing us as unlikely ever to say no to any sexual encounter – you can know this historically, but then when you experience it interpersonally, you have to grapple with the fact that more people in your own community will come to the defence of your abuser than you,” she says. “It really presses the question of ‘what is solidarity supposed to look like?’” she continues. “What does it mean to defend the ‘we’, when that ‘we’ often excludes me?”

Crenshaw returns to that question – of the instability of “we”– again and again. From arriving at Harvard Law School and being called the N-word on her first day, to being directed to enter the university’s exclusive Fly Club through the back door because she was a woman – the Black male friends she was with, rather than challenge the slight, urged her not to make a scene. What she would later call “asymmetrical solidarities” revealed themselves in practice: loyalty expected but not returned. “I cannot bring myself to ride or die for a politics that won’t ride or die for me,” she writes of the incident.

In legal terms, the problem came into focus when Crenshaw came across a 1976 case in which an African American woman was denied the ability to bring a discrimination claim against her employer on the grounds that the law could recognise race or gender, but not both at once. Her experience – specifically of being discriminated against as a Black woman – fell through the cracks and the case was thrown out of court. In 1989, Crenshaw identified this form of compound discrimination and gave it a name: intersectionality. Around the same time, she was part of a group of scholars developing what would become critical race theory, a broader attempt to understand how racism is a structural part of the legal system.

It is a lesson that would resurface, years later, in a very different arena. When Barack Obama was elected president in 2008, the language of “we” returned with renewed force – this time, as a promise. For many, Obama’s election felt like a rupture with the past. But for Crenshaw, it quickly raised a familiar question.

“I didn’t think it would happen in my lifetime,” she says, of that initial hope after Obama’s victory. “It felt like a miracle. My mother and I celebrated together on the phone – I was dancing on a table at Stanford and she was doing the same in her retirement facility. For her especially, it was a dream come true.”

But symbolism, Crenshaw suggests, has limits, particularly when it is used as a substitute for structural change. She found his reticence to address racial injustice head-on frustrating. Very quickly, the terms of Obama’s political viability became clear.

“He had been framed as post-racial, beyond these issues,” she says. “And that framing became a constraint on what he could say and how directly he could address racial injustice.”

Even when Obama did address racial inequality more explicitly in his second term – most notably after the killing of 17-year-old Trayvon Martin in 2012 – the focus, she felt, remained narrow. The White House’s response, My Brother’s Keeper, was launched as a nationwide initiative to expand opportunities for Black boys and young men. Its intentions were widely praised. Crenshaw was not convinced, and she took the administration to task directly.

“What was being discussed – Black boys and boys of colour– while important, came at the expense of girls,” Crenshaw says. “Black girls and girls of colour were suffering many of the same issues.”

Through the African American Policy Forum, she launched the #WhyWeCantWait campaign, calling for the programme to be expanded to include girls and young women of colour. Prominent Black feminist leaders and advocates including Brittney Cooper, Barbara Arnwine, Lisalyn Jacobs and Fatima Goss Graves threw their support behind it. An open letter, signed by more than 1,000 women and girls, urged the administration to realign the initiative with the principles of inclusion and shared fate that had long underpinned struggles for racial justice. The groundswell widened further with a second petition backed by high-profile white feminists including Gloria Steinem, V (formerly Eve Ensler) and Jane Fonda.

Crenshaw was invited to the White House to discuss the initiative, but the encounter only underscored how little space there was for the argument she was making. She recalls being interrupted by Obama’s chief of staff, who, she says, incredibly, told her she perhaps didn’t understand the meaning of intersectionality. Afterwards, she found herself shut out of the administration.

“It was uncomfortable to find myself outside the flow of support,” she says. “I never liked being at odds with my community. But if speaking out means sometimes being at odds with people I love, well, so be it. I still love them. I hope they still love me.”

More recently, though, the backtalking has not been against people she loves. The whiplash between the 44th and 45th presidents – the cautious optimism of Obama and the aggressive rollback under Trump – made that unavoidable.

Since 2020, the backlash has metastasised, Crenshaw argues, into an all-out assault not just on ideas, but on the very existence of Black people and women in positions of authority. “Our very presence in power is treated as preferential treatment,” she says. “This narrative of reverse discrimination has been central to the attack from the start.”

In response, she has not retreated but doubled down on her work with the African American Policy Forum, mobilising coalitions, supporting grassroots activists and amplifying voices that challenge the distortion and erasure of race and gender in public life. She continues to insist that the frameworks she helped build are necessary for understanding how inequality operates today.

This febrile political climate has brought a rising tide of political violence into everyday life in the US. The 2021 Capitol Hill riot, the assassination attempts on Trump, the 2025 targeted killing of Minnesota state representative Melissa Hortman and her husband, the killing of rightwing activist Charlie Kirk. I ask her whether her physical safety is now something she worries about. She demurs.

“There’s a long history in this country of using the threat of violence to keep people under heel,” she says. “The civil rights movement succeeded despite that terror. One cannot ignore that history. One cannot think that those forces that are willing to break this country rather than share it, don’t have descendants who won’t carry forward the same ideas.

“So yes, it’s a reality, and of course I take steps to be safe,” she continues. “But that is the cost of backtalking to the forces of autocracy.”

Backtalker: A Memoir by Kimberlé Williams Crenshaw is published by Allen Lane on 5 May. To support the Guardian, order your copy at guardianbookshop.com. Delivery charges may apply. Crenshaw will be in conversation with Afua Hirsch at The Southbank Centre on 23 May: https://www.southbankcentre.co.uk/whats-on/kimberle-crenshaw-backtalker/ “

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The Messianic Maniac Pushing For Holy War in Iran

 

Thursday, April 23, 2026

Justice Dept. Targets Hundreds of Citizens in New Push for Denaturalization

 

Justice Dept. Targets Hundreds of Citizens in New Push for Denaturalization

"The Trump administration is assigning denaturalization cases to regular prosecutors, which could lead to a surge of people stripped of U.S. citizenship.

Three people raise their right hands in oath in front of waving American flags.
People reciting an oath during a naturalization ceremony at Liberty State Park in Jersey City, N.J.Kent J. Edwards/Reuters

The Justice Department has identified 384 foreign-born Americans whose citizenship it wants to revoke, part of a push to increase the pace of denaturalizations by assigning the cases to prosecutors in dozens of U.S. attorney’s offices across the country.

Senior Justice Department officials in Washington told colleagues during a meeting last week that civil litigators in 39 regional offices would soon be assigned to file denaturalization cases against the individuals, according to an official familiar with the announcement who was not authorized to describe it on the record. Two people familiar with the plans confirmed the broader effort to ramp up denaturalizations. It was not clear what led the department to target the 384 individuals.

Under federal law, the government may ask a court to strip the citizenship of people who obtained it fraudulently — for instance, by entering into a sham marriage or by withholding information about their past that would have made them ineligible. Some who commit crimes may also be denaturalized. The government must present evidence to a federal judge through a civil or criminal proceeding, making the process challenging and time-consuming.

Traditionally, experts in the department’s office of immigration litigation have handled denaturalization cases. But the effort to enlist regular prosecutors to pursue these cases could lead to a surge in denaturalizations, which have been rare in recent decades. It also comes just months after Trump administration officials ordered Department of Homeland Security staffers to refer upward of 200 denaturalization cases a month to the DOJ.

Matthew Tragesser, a Justice Department spokesman, said that officials were “pursuing the highest volume of denaturalization referrals in history” from the Department of Homeland Security. 

“The Department of Justice is laser focused on rooting out criminal aliens defrauding the naturalization process,” he added.

“Citizenship fraud is a serious crime; anyone who has broken the law and obtained citizenship through fraud and deceit will be held accountable,” said Abigail Jackson, a White House spokeswoman.

The push indicates that the Trump administration aims to make good on its plan to increase the pace of denaturalizations as part of its crackdown on immigration. The move will likely scare many naturalized immigrants as the Trump administration has sought to curtail immigration across the board and spoken disdainfully about migrants from certain countries.

“The message it sends is that naturalized citizens don’t have the same rights and stability as native-born citizens,” said Amanda Frost, a law professor at the University of Virginia. “The government has used this power in the past to target people it views as political opponents.”

Between 2017 and late last year, the government sought to strip just over 120 naturalized Americans of their citizenship. Such cases were far less common before President Trump was first elected, said Ms. Frost, who has written about the history of denaturalization. Between 1990 and 2017, the government filed 305 denaturalization cases, an average of 11 per year.

People who become U.S. citizens are extensively vetted. Applicants must provide biometric data and answer wide-ranging questions about their travel history, run-ins with the law and ties to the Communist Party. Some qualify through marriage to U.S. citizens after three years. Others become eligible after having held green cards for at least five years. The final steps of the naturalization process include passing civics and English tests.

There have been instances of fraud. In 2017, the inspector general at the Department of Homeland Security said in a report that an initiative to digitize fingerprints collected on paper in old immigration cases revealed that more than 800 immigrants obtained American citizenship despite having been previously deported under a different name.

In 2024, more than 818,000 immigrants became American citizens, according to federal data.

Naturalized citizens enjoy almost all the rights and responsibilities of native-born citizens (a notable exception is that foreign-born citizens may not run for president). As such, the bar for stripping someone of citizenship is high.

“For civil revocation of naturalization, the burden of proof is clear, convincing, and unequivocal evidence which does not leave the issue in doubt,” the U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Service said on its website.

During last week’s meeting, Francey Hakes, the director of the Executive Office for United States Attorneys, described the 384 individuals identified for denaturalization “the first wave of cases” the government intended to pursue. Ms. Hakes acknowledged that several civil divisions at U.S. attorney’s offices are understaffed and struggling to cope with an avalanche of lawsuits filed by immigrants challenging the legality of their detentions.

“I hope these cases will not be too much of an additional burden,” Ms. Hakes told colleagues, adding that boosting denaturalization cases was a “White House initiative.”

Ms. Jackson, the White House spokeswoman, said “this isn’t a White House initiative — it’s federal law.”

Making denaturalization cases a core part of the work of civil divisions at U.S. attorney’s offices stands to divert resources from the type of cases its litigators have historically prioritized. Those include health-care fraud, procurement fraud, enforcement of civil rights laws and asset forfeiture cases.

A rise in denaturalizations may also send a chilling message, said Ms. Frost, the law professor, hearkening back to an era in the 20th Century during which the government denaturalized political activists it disdained. President Trump said in an interview in January that Americans of Somali descent could be among those targeted in the denaturalization push.

During the years when the government pursued denaturalization cases infrequently, it tended to go after people who had committed war crimes overseas before becoming Americans.

“This kind of mass denaturalization campaign will be based on a distortion of the law and is another transparent effort to destabilize long-established principles of US citizenship,” said Lucas Guttentag, a former DOJ official in the Biden administration and a professor at Stanford Law School. “Genuine fraud when it actually occurs has always been aggressively pursued.”

In recent months, the Trump administration has filed denaturalization cases against a broad range of immigrants. They include a Marine from Ghana who was court-martialed over a sex crime, an Argentine man accused of having obtained citizenship by falsely claiming to be Cuban and a Nigerian man convicted of running a tax-fraud scheme.

Ernesto Londoño is a Times reporter based in Minnesota, covering news in the Midwest and drug use and counternarcotics policy. He welcomes tips and can be reached at elondono.81 on Signal.

Hamed Aleaziz covers the Department of Homeland Security and immigration policy for The Times."