America’s homeless ranks graying as more retire on streets

By ANITA SNOW

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Karla Finocchio, 55, sits in her truck as she describes her days being homeless living in her truck, Friday, Feb. 4, 2022, in Phoenix. Finocchio is one face of America's graying homeless population, a rapidly expanding group of destitute and desperate people 50 and older suddenly without a permanent home after a job loss, divorce, family death or health crisis during a pandemic. (AP Photo/Ross D. Franklin)


PHOENIX (AP) — Karla Finocchio’s slide into homelessness began when she split with her partner of 18 years and temporarily moved in with a cousin.

The 55-year-old planned to use her $800-a-month disability check to get an apartment after back surgery. But she soon was sleeping in her old pickup protected by her German Shepherd mix Scrappy, unable to afford housing in Phoenix, where median monthly rents soared 33% during the coronavirus pandemic to over $1,220 for a one-bedroom, according to ApartmentList.com.

Finocchio is one face of America’s graying homeless population, a rapidly expanding group of destitute and desperate people 50 and older suddenly without a permanent home after a job loss, divorce, family death or health crisis during a pandemic.

“We’re seeing a huge boom in senior homelessness,” said Kendra Hendry, a caseworker at Arizona’s largest shelter, where older people make up about 30% of those staying there. “These are not necessarily people who have mental illness or substance abuse problems. They are people being pushed into the streets by rising rents.”

Academics project their numbers will nearly triple over the next decade, challenging policy makers from Los Angeles to New York to imagine new ideas for sheltering the last of the baby boomers as they get older, sicker and less able to pay spiraling rents. Advocates say much more housing is needed, especially for extremely low-income people.

Navigating sidewalks in wheelchairs and walkers, the aging homeless have medical ages greater than their years, with mobility, cognitive and chronic problems like diabetes. Many contracted COVID-19 or couldn’t work because of pandemic restrictions.

“It’s so scary,” said Finocchio, her green eyes clouding with tears while sitting on the cushioned seat of her rolling walker. “I don’t want to be on the street in a wheelchair and living in a tent.”

It was Finocchio’s first time being homeless. She’s now at Ozanam Manor, a transitional shelter the Society of St. Vincent de Paul runs in Phoenix for people 50 and up seeking permanent housing.

At the 60-bed shelter, Finocchio sleeps in a college-style women’s dorm, with a single bed and small desk where she displays Scrappy’s photo. The dog with perky black ears is staying with Finocchio’s brother.

A stroke started 67-year-old Army veteran Lovia Primous on his downward spiral, costing him his job and forcing him to sleep in his Honda Accord. He was referred to the transitional shelter after recovering from COVID-19.

“Life has been hard,” said Primous, who grew up on in a once- segregated African American neighborhood of south Phoenix. “I’m just trying to stay positive.”

Cardelia Corley ended up on the streets of Los Angeles County after the hours at her telemarketing job were cut.

Now 65, Corley said she was surprised to meet so many others who were also working, including a teacher and a nurse who lost her home following an illness.

“I’d always worked, been successful, put my kid through college,” the single mother said. “And then all of a sudden things went downhill.”

Corley traveled all night aboard buses and rode commuter trains to catch a cat nap.

“And then I would go to Union Station downtown and wash up in the bathroom,” said Corley. She recently moved into a small East Hollywood apartment with help from The People Concern, a Los Angeles nonprofit.

The U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development said in its 2017 Annual Homeless Assessment Report the share of homeless people 50 and over in emergency shelters or transitional housing jumped from 22.9% in 2007 to 33.8% in 2017. More precise and recent nationwide figures aren’t available because HUD has since changed the methodology in the reports and lumps older people in with all adults over 25..

A 2019 study of aging homeless people led by the University of Pennsylvania drew on 30 years of census data to project the U.S. population of people 65 and older experiencing homelessness will nearly triple from 40,000 to 106,000 by 2030, resulting in a public health crisis as their age-related medical problems multiply.

Dr. Margot Kushel, a physician who directs the Center for Vulnerable Populations at the University of California, San Francisco, said her research in Oakland on how homelessness affects health has shown nearly half of the tens of thousands of older homeless people in the U.S. are on the streets for the first time.

“We are seeing that retirement is no longer the golden dream,” said Kushel. “A lot of the working poor are destined to retire onto the streets.”

That’s especially true of younger baby boomers, now in their late 50s to late 60s, who don’t have pensions or 401(k) accounts. About half of both women and men ages 55 to 66 have no retirement savings, according to the census.

Born between 1946 and 1964, baby boomers now number over 70 million, the census shows. With the oldest boomers in their mid 70s, all will hit age 65 by 2030.

The aged homeless also tend to have smaller Social Security checks after years working off the books. A third of some 900 older homeless people in Phoenix said in a recent survey they have no income at all.

Teresa Smith, CEO of the San Diego nonprofit Dreams for Change, said she’s also noticed the homeless population is trending older. The group operates two safe parking lots for people living in cars.

Susan, who stayed at one lot, spoke only if her last name wasn’t used because of the stigma surrounding homelessness.

The 63-year-old had kidney cancer while caring for her mother, then lost their two-bedroom apartment after her mom died. The cancer is now in remission.

Susan slept in her car with her dog at one of the gated parking lots that provide a bathroom, showers and a shared refrigerator and microwave.

She was stunned to see a man in his 80s living in a car there, calling it “just wrong.”

But residents enjoyed the community, grilling meals together and even surprising one in their group with a birthday cake.

Dreams for Change recently helped Susan get a one-bedroom apartment with a housing voucher after months of waiting.

With a washer and dryer, patio, dishwasher and bathtub, “I feel like I’m at the Ritz,” she said.

Donald Whitehead Jr., executive director of the Washington-based advocacy group National Coalition for the Homeless, said that seeing older people sleep in cars and abandoned buildings should worry everyone.

“We now accept these things that we would have been outraged about just 20 years ago,” said Whitehead.

Whitehead said Black, Latino and Indigenous people who came of age in the 1980s amid recession and high unemployment rates are disproportionately represented among the homeless.

Many nearing retirement never got well-paying jobs and didn’t buy homes because of discriminatory real estate practices.

“So many of us didn’t put money into retirement programs, thinking that Social Security was going to take care of us,” said Rudy Soliz, 63, operations director for Justa Center, which offers meals, showers, a mail drop and other services to the aged homeless in Phoenix.

The average monthly Social Security retirement payment as of December was $1,658. Many older homeless people have much smaller checks because they worked fewer years or earned less than others.

People 65 and over with limited resources and who didn’t work enough to earn retirement benefits may be eligible for Supplemental Security Income of $841 a month.

Finocchio said limited contributions were made for her into Social Security and Medicare because most of her jobs were off the books in telephone sales or watering office plants.

“The programs approved by Congress to prevent destitution among the elderly and the disabled are not working,” said Dennis Culhane, a University of Pennsylvania professor who led the 2019 study of the aging homeless in New York, Boston and Los Angeles County. “And the problem is only going to get worse.”

Jennifer Molinsky, project director for the Aging Society Program at Harvard University’s Joint Center for Housing Studies, agreed the federal government must do more to ensure older Americans are better housed.

“The younger boomers were hit especially hard in the Great Recession, many losing their homes close to retirement,” Molinsky said.

Longer term shelters specifically for older people are helping get some off the streets at least temporarily.

The Arizona Department of Housing last year provided a $7.5 million block grant for the state’s largest shelter to buy an old hotel to temporarily house up to 170 older people without a place to stay. The city of Phoenix kicked in $4 million for renovations.

CEO Lisa Glow of Central Arizona Shelter Services, which runs the state’s biggest shelter in downtown Phoenix, said the hotel is expected to open by year’s end. Residents will stay around 90 days while caseworkers help find permanent housing

“We need more dignified, safer and comfortable places for our seniors,” said Glow, noting that physical limitations make it difficult for older people at the 500-bed shelter downtown.

Nestor Castro, 67, was luckier than many who lose permanent homes.

Castro was in his late 50s living in New York when his mother died and he was hospitalized with bleeding ulcers, losing their apartment. He initially stayed with his sister in Boston, then for more than three years at a YMCA in Cambridge, Massachusetts.

Just before last Christmas, Castro got a permanent subsidized apartment through Hearth Inc., a Boston nonprofit dedicated to ending homelessness among older adults. Residents pay 30% of their income to stay in one if Hearth’s 228 units.

Castro pays with part of his Social Security check and a part-time job. He also volunteers at a food pantry and a nonprofit that assists people with housing.

“Housing is a big problem around here because they are building luxury apartments that no one can afford,” he said. “A place down the street is $3,068 a month for a studio.”

Hearth Inc. CEO Mark Hinderlie said far more housing needs to be built and made affordable for the aged, especially now as the numbers of graying homeless people surge.

“It’s cheaper to house people than leave them homeless,” Hinderlie said. “You have to rethink what housing can be.”

__

Janie Har in Marin County, California, and Christopher Weber in Los Angeles contributed to this report.

With COVID mission over, Pentagon plans for next pandemic

By LOLITA C. BALDOR

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In this image provided by the U.S. Army, U.S. Air Force 2nd Lt. Kaelan Hayes, a clinical nurse assigned to the military medical team deployed to Brockton, Mass., gathers medication as part of the COVID-19 response operations at Signature Healthcare Brockton Hospital, March 15, 2022.

 (Sgt. Kaden D. Pitt/U.S. Army via AP)


WASHINGTON (AP) — A COVID-19 patient was in respiratory distress. The Army nurse knew she had to act quickly.

It was the peak of this year’s omicron surge and an Army medical team was helping in a Michigan hospital. Regular patient beds were full. So was the intensive care. But the nurse heard of an open spot in an overflow treatment area, so she and another team member raced the gurney across the hospital to claim the space first, denting a wall in their rush.

When she saw the dent, Lt. Col. Suzanne Cobleigh, the leader of the Army team, knew the nurse had done her job. “She’s going to damage the wall on the way there because he’s going to get that bed,” Cobleigh said. “He’s going to get the treatment he needs. That was the mission.”

That nurse’s mission was to get urgent care for her patient. Now, the U.S. military mission is to use the experiences of Cobleigh’s team and other units pressed into service against the pandemic to prepare for the next crisis threatening a large population, whatever its nature.

Their experiences, said Gen. Glen VanHerck, will help shape the size and staffing of the military’s medical response so the Pentagon can provide the right types and numbers of forces needed for another pandemic, global crisis or conflict.


One of the key lessons learned was the value of small military teams over mass movements of personnel and facilities in a crisis like the one wrought by COVID-19.

In the early days of the pandemic, the Pentagon steamed hospital ships to New York City and Los Angeles, and set up massive hospital facilities in convention centers and parking lots, in response to pleas from state government leaders. The idea was to use them to treat non-COVID-19 patients, allowing hospitals to focus on the more acute pandemic cases. But while images of the military ships were powerful, too often many beds went unused. Fewer patients needed non-coronavirus care than expected, and hospitals were still overwhelmed by the pandemic.

A more agile approach emerged: having military medical personnel step in for exhausted hospital staff members or work alongside them or in additional treatment areas in unused spaces.


“It morphed over time,” VanHerck, who heads U.S. Northern Command and is responsible for homeland defense, said of the response.

Overall, about 24,000 U.S. troops were deployed for the pandemic, including nearly 6,000 medical personnel to hospitals and 5,000 to help administer vaccines. Many did multiple tours. That mission is over, at least for now.

Cobleigh and her team members were deployed to two hospitals in Grand Rapids from December to February, as part of the U.S. military’s effort to relieve civilian medical workers. And just last week the last military medical team that had been deployed for the pandemic finished its stint at the University of Utah Hospital and headed home.

VanHerck told The Associated Press his command is rewriting pandemic and infectious disease plans, and planning wargames and other exercises to determine if the U.S. has the right balance of military medical staff in the active duty and reserves.

During the pandemic, he said, the teams’ make-up and equipment needs evolved. Now, he’s put about 10 teams of physicians, nurses and other staff — or about 200 troops — on prepare-to-deploy orders through the end of May in case infections shoot up again. The size of the teams ranges from small to medium.

Dr. Kencee Graves, inpatient chief medical officer at the University of Utah Hospital, said the facility finally decided to seek help this year because it was postponing surgeries to care for all the COVID-19 patients and closing off beds because of staff shortages.

Some patients had surgery postponed more than once, Graves said, because of critically ill patients or critical needs by others. “So before the military came, we were looking at a surgical backlog of hundreds of cases and we were low on staff. We had fatigued staff.”

Her mantra became, “All I can do is show up and hope it’s helpful.” She added, “And I just did that day after day after day for two years.”

Then in came a 25-member Navy medical team.

“A number of staff were overwhelmed,” said Cdr. Arriel Atienza, chief medical officer for the Navy team. “They were burnt out. They couldn’t call in sick. We’re able to fill some gaps and needed shifts that would otherwise have remained unmanned, and the patient load would have been very demanding for the existing staff to match.”

Atienza, a family physician who’s been in the military for 21 years, spent the Christmas holiday deployed to a hospital in New Mexico, then went to Salt Lake City in March. Over time, he said, the military “has evolved from things like pop-up hospitals” and now knows how to integrate seamlessly into local health facilities in just a couple days.

That integration helped the hospital staff recover and catch up.

“We have gotten through about a quarter of our surgical backlog,” Graves said. ”We did not call a backup physician this month for the hospital team ... that’s the first time that’s happened in several months. And then we haven’t called a patient and asked them to reschedule their surgery for the majority of the last few weeks.”

VanHerck said the pandemic also underscored the need to review the nation’s supply chain to ensure that the right equipment and medications were being stockpiled, or to see if they were coming from foreign distributors.

“If we’re relying on getting those from a foreign manufacturer and supplier, then that may be something that is a national security vulnerability that we have to address,” he said.

VanHerck said the U.S. is also working to better analyze trends in order to predict the needs for personnel, equipment and protective gear. Military and other government experts watched the progress of COVID-19 infections moving across the country and used that data to predict where the next outbreak might be so that staff could be prepared to go there.

The need for mental health care for the military personnel also became apparent. Team members coming off difficult shifts often needed someone to talk to.

Cobleigh said military medical personnel were not accustomed to caring for so many people with multiple health problems, as are more apt to be found in a civilian population than in military ranks. “The level of sickness and death in the civilian sector was scores more than what anyone had experienced back in the Army,” said Cobleigh, who is stationed now at Fort Riley, Kansas, but will soon move to Aberdeen Proving Ground in Maryland.

She said she found that her staff needed her and wanted to “talk through their stresses and strains before they’d go back on shift.”

For the civilian hospitals, the lesson was knowing when to call for help.

“It was the bridge to help us get out of omicron and in a position where we can take good care of our patients,” Graves said. “I am not sure how we would have done that without them.”

F-35: Why Germany is opting for the US-made stealth fighter jet

Germany wants to upgrade its military with the world's most modern fighter jet. The order is worth billions. But is it a good fit?

The F-35 is a state-of-the-art stealth bomber, which Germany's air force has long coveted

The F-35 Lightning II is considered the most modern fighter jet in the world. The jet, made by US manufacturer Lockheed Martin, is considered more than just a fighter aircraft. It is essentially an armed computer with a jet engine that can network with other aircraft in the air as well as ground forces, processing thousands of pieces of information every second.

But is it the right jet for the Bundeswehr? Defense Minister Christine Lambrecht (SPD) announced on Monday that Germany wants to buy 35 such jets to replace the Tornado fighter jets put into service more than 40 years ago, which, like the F-35, can carry American atomic bombs to their target.

"There are military reasons in favor of the F-35," said Rafael Loss, a security expert at the think tank European Council on Foreign Relations. "If you have to deliver the nuclear bomb, you better do it with a stealth aircraft than with an aircraft that doesn't have that capability," he told DW. "We need that lower radar signature and the ability to detect and engage targets at long range. And the F-35 can do that better than any other air combat system on the market right now."

Billions of euros

But those capabilities come at a cost. Loss expects the 35 fighter jets to cost about €4 billion ($4.4 billion). "On top of that, of course, there would be the operating costs, which are substantial," he says. Moreover, several hundred million euros would probably have to be budgeted for the necessary conversion of German military airports.

Without Russia's war against Ukraine, such an investment would hardly have been conceivable. But now the German government wants to upgrade the Bundeswehr with a special fund of €100 billion. And political resistance to a new nuclear bomber is also low. Even the Greens have offered little criticism. Though once founded by pacifists, they are now in Germany's governing coalition.

Only the opposition Left Party is unequivocally against the planned acquisition of the F-35. "We reject the arming of the Bundeswehr with new fighter jets capable of carrying nuclear weapons," said Ali Al-Dailami, defense policy spokesman for the Left faction in the Bundestag, the German parliament. "Nuclear sharing, according to which US nuclear weapons would have to be dropped by Bundeswehr pilots, does not create security but fuels the danger of nuclear war in Europe. The horrors of the Ukraine war must not be misused as a pretext for an arms race."

The German air force, it seems, is relieved to be able to put a successor to the obsolete Tornado aircraft into service before the end of the decade. Lieutenant General Ingo Gerhartz, the air force's highest-ranking soldier, pointed out that many other European armies had also opted for the US fighter. "It strengthens our ability to join them in securing NATO airspace and defending the alliance," he said.

The UK, Italy, the Netherlands, and, most recently, Finland and Switzerland have opted for the F-35. For them, air defense cooperation with Germany could become easier.

"In France, on the other hand, the decision has been met with frustration," says Paul Maurice, a researcher at the French Institute of International Relations in Paris. "The F-35 is understood here as a symbol of US power within NATO. After all the speeches about European autonomy and sovereignty, one had expected Germany to be more aligned with a European arms policy."

After all, he said, what would happen if the US withdrew forces from Europe, as happened under President Donald Trump? "That could happen with the next president, but also already after the midterm elections," Maurice says. Europe needed to be prepared for such a development and become more autonomous in security matters, he adds. "That takes ten, fifteen years of preparation, so it needs to start now."

Pilots need a special high-tech outfit to fly the F-35B Lightning II

A future for FCAS?

In France, there are fears that the purchase of the F-35 could jeopardize the Franco-German-Spanish FCAS, short for Future Combat Air System. The billion-dollar project is meant to develop a state-of-the-art European fighter by 2040 to replace the French Rafale and the German Eurofighter. According to Maurice, the defense community in Paris is currently asking themselves: "Will Germany still need FCAS at all? Or are the F-35s perhaps not a transitional solution, but a long-term solution?"

Berlin has emphasized that it is acquiring the F-35s only as a replacement for the Tornados and not for other tasks. Alternatives discussed in recent years, such as the older American F-18 or the Eurofighter, would first have had to go through a lengthy procedure to be considered capable of carrying nuclear bombs.

And, the defense minister announced, 15 more European-made Eurofighters would be purchased for electronic warfare, i.e., radar countermeasures. In addition, Lambrecht has offered assurances that there was still enough money left to push FCAS further. Just like the F-35, this future is likely to be very sophisticated — and very expensive.

LA REVUE GAUCHE - Left Comment: Search results for PERMANENT ARMS ECONOMY 

How Richard Wagner promoted the 'German feeling'

Alienation and belonging, eros and disgust: The four feelings were central in 19th-century attempts to define identity. Composer Richard Wagner embraced them and made them "German."

Richard Wagner's influence as the 'inventor of the myth of modernity' is explored in a new exhibition

In a contemporary society that is so quick to "cancel" personalities based on a misplaced comment or action, the enduring popularity of German composer Richard Wagner is part of his appeal for scholars. After all, he was notoriously antisemitic; his writings on Jews and his music were later embraced by Adolf Hitler and the Nazis.

"For better or worse, Wagner is the most widely influential figure in the history of music," writes Alex Ross in his book "Wagnerism: Arts and Politics in the Shadow of Music," which takes a deep dive into the German composer's many-sided cultural legacy.

But his tentacular influence did not only come posthumously.

During his lifetime, Wagner also managed to capture the spirit of his era, and became the "inventor of the so-called myth of modernity," said US-born music historian Michael P. Steinberg, curator of a new exhibition at Berlin's Deutsches Historisches Museum (DHM), "Richard Wagner and the Nationalization of Feeling."

For Steinberg, the title of the exhibition, which translates literally as "Richard Wagner and the German Feeling," refers to two levels of interpretation, the first one being that Wagner taught his audience to "feel" through his musical works; on the second level, he also taught them how to "feel German," by claiming that "the only true music is German."

An erotically charged magic garden: a model stage set from Richard Wagner's "Parsifal"

Steinberg also points out that to deal with Wagner today — whether as an opera fan or a historian — means to recognize the composer's creative genius while examining and criticizing his ideology.

With this in mind, the curator picked four feelings that were central to Wagner's work and life, and that also reflected the political and social issues of his time.

Alienation led to revolts

The first feeling, "Alienation," refers to an attitude the young composer developed during his three-year stay in Paris, from 1839 to 1842. There, he decided to reject the traditions of French and Italian opera and focus on developing a new German operatic tradition.

European society of the 1830s and 1840s also expressed its dissatisfaction with the prevailing power structures. It was an era marked by upheavals and revolutions. 

Even though Wagner's musical dramas are set in a mythical and distant past, the exhibition points out that the works produced before 1848 "can be understood as an expression of the current revolutionary spitfire."

For example, his characters in the operas "The Flying Dutchman" and "Lohengrin" are roaming outsiders, who hope to escape society's narrow-mindedness.

Another event demonstrates how Wagner's actions merged with the social pulse of the time is the Dresden May uprising in 1849. Its participants hoped to revolutionize the conditions that prevailed in society.

Artists from the fields of music and theater were also agents of change, and Wagner was among those who took part in the failed revolt. He fled to exile in Switzerland to avoid arrest, where he wrote several essays defining his artistic ideals, all while creating many musical works that established his international reputation.

Wagner also established his 'brand' by having several photos taken of him, 

such as this one from 1871

Belonging, or defining a German identity

The second feeling examined by the exhibition, "Belonging," looks into Wagner's contribution to the process of defining a German national identity.

After the political ban placed on Wagner was lifted in 1862, he returned to Germany and gained the patronage of Bavarian King Ludwig II .

Following the wars of German unification in the 1860s and the founding of the German empire in 1871, the self-understanding of the nation became a central question in politics, science and the arts.

The composer definitely saw himself as embodying the soul of the country, writing in his diary, "I am the most German being, I am the German spirit."

Wagner's creation of the Bayreuth Festival in 1876 and its opening work, his four-part "Ring of the Nibelung," also expressed the search for the alleged origins of German folktales and myths that would strengthen this national identity.

"Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg" celebrates "what is German and true" particularly through the opera's climax, with the character of master-singer Hans Sachs warning against "foreign mists and foreign vanities."

While Wagner never explicitly defined a character in his works as Jewish, the figure of Beckmesser in this work is seen by many scholars as embodying Wagner's stereotypical and racist views on Jews.

And this work went on to be used as the Nazis' soundtrack, for instance during the inaugural celebrations of the Third Reich in 1933, which adds to its loaded legacy.

Barrie Kosky became the first Jewish director to stage 'Meistersingers' at the 

Bayreuth Festival in 2017, tackling the antisemitic stereotypes head-on

Eros, desiring people and objects

In the section "Eros," the exhibition looks into how desire and possessions were central concepts in Wagner's private life as well as in his works.

The composer had many love affairs, and was also renowned for being a dandy who prized expensive clothes and furniture. Even though he was often in debt, he found sponsors to keep supporting him. Wagner thereby anchored the image of the artist who lives freely, apart from bourgeois conventions.

The composer was however not alone in coveting material comfort. Germany's Gründerzeit, a period of rapid industrialization in the 1850s and 1860s, spurred the population's new desire for luxury and consumption.

And "eros" also refers to the idea of desire, which drives the plot of many of Wagner's music dramas, from the enchantress Lorelei in "Rheingold" to his story of doomed lovers, "Tristan und Isolde."

A slipper worn by Wagner shows his taste for fine clothes

Disgust, or the healthy body as metaphor for antisemitism

The feeling of "Disgust" that's explored in the fourth section of the exhibition notes the era's scientific innovations related to knowledge of the human body.

As awareness for hygiene and health grew in Germany, treatments such as water-drinking cures became increasingly popular in the 19th century.

Wagner was among those who regularly went to such spas to cure his various illnesses and find a quiet retreat to create.

But the image of the pure body also served as a metaphor for antisemitism, and Wagner used his influential voice to spread hatred of the Jews. His essay "Judaism and Music" was just one of many of his writings that decried Jewish influence in society and politics.

"You can't take the good Wagner and the bad Wagner separately," says music historian Steinberg.

The composer embodies and reflects Germany's highest achievements, as well as the most unsettling aspects of its identity, which is why there's still more to learn from him by taking a closer look at the controversial figure, rather than by simply canceling him out.

"Richard Wagner and the Nationalization of Feeling" is on show at the Deutsches Historisches Museum in Berlin from April 8 through September 11, 2022.

Edited by: Sarah Hucal

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Wave of support for US mother awaiting execution

Léa DAUPLE
Sun, April 10, 2022,

The looming execution of a US mother-of-14 -- sentenced to death in a controversial case for the murder of her toddler daughter -- has provoked backlash from celebrities like Kim Kardashian and a growing movement that reaches well beyond US borders.

Melissa Lucio is to be put to death on April 27 for the 2007 murder of her two-year-old daughter Mariah, whose body was found at the family home covered in bruises, days after falling down stairs.

Pregnant with twins at the time, Lucio's life had been marred by both physical and sexual assault, drug addiction and financial insecurity. She was immediately suspected by police of having hit her daughter and questioned at length, just hours after the death.

After saying "that she hadn't done it nearly a hundred times," at 3:00 am she made a "completely extorted" confession, according to Sabrina Van Tassel, director of the hit documentary "The State of Texas vs. Melissa," which came out in 2020.

"I guess I did it," Lucio eventually told her interrogators when questioned about the presence of the bruises.

That confession was "the only thing they had against her," said Van Tassel, convinced that "there is nothing that connects Melissa Lucio to the death of this child, there is no DNA, no witness."

During the trial, a doctor said it was the "absolute worst" case of child abuse he had seen.

But Mariah had a physical disability which made her unsteady while walking, according to Lucio's defense -- and which could have explained her fall.

The defense also argued that the bruises could have been caused by a blood circulation disorder.

None of Melissa's children had accused her of being violent. As for the prosecutor, he was later sentenced to prison for corruption and extortion.

- 'Miscarriage of justice' -

Now the documentary has sparked widespread interest, causing a whole movement to coalesce around Lucio.

Reality star Kim Kardashian tweeted to her tens of millions of followers on Wednesday that there were "so many unresolved questions surrounding this case and the evidence that was used to convict her."

And Lucio's story has ignited media in Latin America, fascinated by the tale of the first Hispanic woman to be sentenced to death in Texas -- the US state that has executed the most people in the 21st century.

In France, former presidential candidate Christiane Taubira said Lucio is probably a "victim of a miscarriage of justice."

Even one of the jurors who sentenced her expressed his "deep regret" in an editorial published on Sunday.

Lucio is also winning support from US Republicans, traditionally defenders of capital punishment.

About 80 Texas lawmakers from both parties have demanded authorities call off the execution.

Several have been to visit her in prison. "As a conservative Republican myself who has long been a supporter of the death penalty... I have never seen a more troubling case than the case of Melissa Lucio," said one of them, Jeff Leach.

- 'A shock' -

The flood has come as a "shock" for the death row inmate, her son John Lucio told AFP.

When he showed her the messages from celebrities like Kardashian, "she couldn't believe it."

The last 15 years have been "very difficult," said Lucio, who was a teenager at the time of the tragedy and had "to cope with it, knowing that I lost my sister and then my mother being charged for it."

But this year "has been the hardest because we got the execution date in January," said the 32-year-old.

He is convinced that she would never have been condemned "if she had had the money."

The case brings to light the issue of false confessions.

It is difficult to estimate how many there may have been, but according to data from The Innocence Project, which fights against miscarriages of justice, out of every four people wrongly convicted and exonerated thanks to DNA evidence, one had already confessed to the crime.

In homicide cases, that number rises to 60 percent, according to Saul Kassin, professor of psychology at the John Jay College of Criminal Justice.

And someone who, like Lucio, has experienced trauma and violence is "less resistant, more likely to comply, they have less tolerance for the stress of an interrogation," and is therefore more likely to admit to a crime they did not commit, he said.

Lucio has exhausted her appeals -- but her team has filed a clemency petition, typically not decided until days before an execution. Prosecutors can also withdraw the death warrant and agree to reinvestigate the case, according to the Houston Chronicle.

And if all else fails, Texas governor Greg Abbott still has the authority to delay Lucio's death.

A strong supporter of capital punishment, he has only granted clemency once before.

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ABORTION IS LEGAL IN USA

Woman faces murder charge in Texas after 'self-induced abortion,' prompting outrage from reproductive rights advocates

Christine Fernando, USA TODAY
Sat, April 9, 2022

Reproductive rights advocates are voicing their outrage after a woman in Texas was arrested and charged with murder for what law enforcement called "the death of an individual by self-induced abortion."

The Starr County Sheriff's Office in southern Texas arrested Lizelle Herrera, 26, on Thursday. It is unclear whether Herrera is accused of having a self-induced abortion or if she helped someone else get an abortion.

"Herrera was arrested and served with an indictment on the charge of Murder after Herrera did then and there intentionally and knowingly cause the death of an individual by self-induced abortion," sheriff's Maj. Carlos Delgado said in a statement to the Associated Press.

Delgado did not say under which law Herrera has been charged. Herrera remains at Starr County jail on a $500,000 bond, according to the jail's roster.

The sheriff's department and the Starr County District Attorney's office did not respond to multiple requests for comment from USA TODAY.

A handful of protesters gathered outside the jail Saturday morning to demand Herrera be released.

Rockie Gonzalez, founder of Frontera Fund, the nonprofit abortion access fund that organized the protest, called the arrest "inhumane," adding in a Saturday statement that "criminalizing pregnant people’s choices or pregnancy outcomes, which the state of Texas has done, takes away people’s autonomy over their own bodies, and leaves them with no safe options when they choose not to become a parent."

"We stand in solidarity with you Lizelle, if you are reading this, and we will not stand down until you are free," Gonzalez said.

Kamyon Conner, executive director of the Texas Equal Access Fund, said in a statement to USA TODAY that she stands in solidarity with Herrera and is outraged by her arrest.

"No one should be punished for pregnancy outcomes, especially in a state that has made abortion access impossible to obtain," she said. "Make no mistake that these laws and harsh restrictions are meant to ensure that Black and brown bodies continue to be controlled by misogynistic, racist, and classist systems of oppression."

The case comes several months after Texas Senate Bill 8 was enacted in September 2021, banning abortions after six weeks of pregnancy in a state that has the most restrictive abortion laws in the country. The law, however, does not target pregnant people themselves for prosecution and instead is enforceable by private parties who may sue abortion providers who "aid and abet" women seeking abortions.

Five states — Arizona, Oklahoma, South Carolina, Delaware and Nevada — have laws that criminalize self-managed abortions, according to February 2021 statement from If/When/How, a national network of lawyers advocating for reproductive rights. Texas does not have such a law.

However, "Even in states that have no such laws, politically-motivated police and prosecutors have tried to misuse other criminal laws to target people who self-manage abortion," the statement said.

LATEST NEWS: Idaho Supreme Court temporarily blocks new ban on abortions after six weeks

Gonzalez from La Frontera told Texas Public Radio that "it definitely is" the first such case that she has seen in the Rio Grande Valley.

But a report from If/When/How said the organization found 18 arrests of people nationwide who ended their own pregnancies or of those who supported them.

"One thing is consistent through all of these cases: when a prosecutor wants to punish someone, they will find a way to do it," the report said, adding that in many cases, the charges were based on antiquated laws or laws that were meant to protect pregnant people in the wake of high-profile, violent attacks against pregnant women.

While courts have typically sided with people facing charges related to self-induced abortions, there are about 40 types of laws prosecutors "may wield against people who end their own pregnancies and those who help them," according to the If/When/How report.

In 2015, a murder charge was dropped against a 23-year-old Georgia woman who was accused of taking abortion pills to end a pregnancy. Dougherty County District Attorney Greg Edwards dismissed the charge on the grounds that "criminal prosecution of a pregnant woman for her own actions against her unborn child does not seem permitted," the Washington Post reported.

The same year, an Indiana woman was sentenced to 20 years in prison after being convicted of feticide and child neglect for taking abortion-inducing drugs. A state appeals court later overturned both convictions, finding that Indiana's feticide law wasn’t meant to be used to prosecute women for their own abortions.

Years before, Chinese American woman in Indiana was charged with murder and attempted feticide in 2011 after a failed suicide attempt resulted in a miscarriage. Those charges were dropped in 2013.

These types of arrests disproportionately target low-income women and women of color, according to another If/When/How report.

"These women are the ones most likely to have factors — such as a lack of money, childcare, transportation, or legal immigrant status, or a mistrust of the medical system — that push or pull them toward self-induced abortion," the report said.

Contributing: The Associated Press

This article originally appeared on USA TODAY: Woman faces murder charge over 'self-induced abortion': Texas official

Texas DA moves to dismiss charges in self-induced abortion case


Starr County District Attorney Gocha Allen Ramirez said Sunday he is moving to dismiss charges of murder laid against a 26-year-old woman in connection to an abortion. Photo Leigh Vogel/UPI | License Photo


April 10 (UPI) -- Days after a 26-year-old woman was arrested in the state of Texas in connection to a "self-performed abortion," a county district attorney announced he is moving to dismiss the case.

Gocha Allen Ramirez, the district attorney for Starr County, located near the border with Mexico, said in a statement that his office on Monday will file a motion to dismiss the allegations against the woman, stating she "cannot and should not be prosecuted for the allegation against her."

Much is unknown about the charge that was filed against the resident of Texas, a state that has imposed sweeping restrictions to access to the medical procedure though they do not permit for the pregnant person whom an abortion is performed to be charged with murder.

In September, the state enacted a controversial law that bans abortions after about six weeks of pregnancy by arming the public with the ability to sue medical practitioners who perform the medical procedure for thousands of dollars in civil court, while exempting the pregnant person from consequences.

That same month, Texas Gov. Greg Abbott signed into law a bill that makes it a felony for a person to provide abortion-inducing drugs to a woman after 49 days into their pregnancy. The law explicitly states "a pregnant woman on whom a drug-induced abortion is attempted, induced or performed ... is not criminally liable for the violation."

The woman was arrested and charged late last week by the Starr County Sheriff's Office after it was informed by a local hospital she intentionally caused "the death of an individual by self-induced abortion."

Frontera Fund, an abortion fund for the Rio Grande Valley, said the woman had been released on bail Sunday and had secured legal counsel.

Her arrest sparked protests outside of the Starr County Jail over the weekend, according to the fund, which said the abortion in question occurred in January.

"It should not have taken national attention for these charges to be dismissed," the fund said in a statement on Sunday.

Steve Vladeck, a University of Texas law professor, tweeted that the case looks like prosecutors just "forgot" the murder statute exempts pregnant woman who terminate their pregnancy from its scope.

"One one hand it would be a relief if this was just an overreaction by a misinformed local prosecutor vs. something more coordinated," he said. "On the other, it's a sobering reminder of both the power of prosecutors and the unavailability in TX of legal abortions after six weeks of pregnancy."

The district attorney said in his statement that the Starr County Sheriff's Office was doing its job by investigating the local hospital's report and that "[t]o ignore the incident would have been a dereliction of duty."

He added, however, that while the woman will no longer be facing charges, "it is clear to me that the events leading up to this indictment have taken a toll" on the woman.

"It is my hope that with the dismissal of this case it is made clear that [the woman] did not commit a criminal act under the laws of the State of Texas," he said.

National Advocates for Pregnant Women celebrated the dropping of the indictment via Twitter, calling it a "lawless and inhumane case."

"We are so grateful to the TX organizers who made this happen," it said. "Unfortunately, cases like this are happening with increasing regularity. We are here to ensure that no one faces criminalization because of pregnancy."

Veteran Hong Kong journalist arrested for 'sedition'
Posted : 2022-04-11

A Hong Kong national security police officer, left, and a worker carry boxes of evidence from the offices of Stand News in Hong Kong, in this Dec. 29, 2021, file photo. A veteran Hong Kong journalist was arrested by national security police on Monday for allegedly conspiring to publish "seditious materials," a police source and local media said. 

AFP-Yonhap

A veteran Hong Kong journalist was arrested by national security police on Monday for allegedly conspiring to publish "seditious materials," a police source and local media said.

The arrest is the latest blow against the local press in Hong Kong which has seen its media freedom rating plummet as Beijing cracks down on dissent.

Allan Au, a 54-year-old reporter and journalism lecturer, was arrested in a dawn raid by Hong Kong's national security police unit, multiple local media outlets reported.

A senior police source confirmed Au's arrest to AFP on a charge of "conspiracy to publish seditious materials."

Police have yet to release an official statement. Au was a former columnist for Stand News, an online news platform that was shuttered last December after authorities froze the company's assets using a national security law.

Two other senior employees of Stand News have already been charged with sedition.

National security charges have also been brought against jailed pro-democracy media tycoon Jimmy Lai and six former senior executives of Apple Daily.

Once Hong Kong's most popular tabloid, Apple Daily collapsed last year when its newsroom was raided and assets were frozen under the security law.

Soon after Stand News was shut down, Au began to write "good morning" each day on his Facebook to confirm his safety.

One of the city's most experienced local columnists, he was a Knight fellow at Stanford University in 2005 and earned a doctorate from the Chinese University of Hong Kong.

In 2017 Au published a book about censorship in Hong Kong entitled "Freedom Under 20 Shades of Shadow."

Au spent more than a decade working for RTHK, Hong Kong's government broadcaster, running a current affairs show.

But he was axed last year after the authorities declared a shake-up that began transforming the once editorially independent broadcaster into something more resembling Chinese state media.

National security offence

First penned by colonial ruler Britain in 1938, sedition was long criticized as an anti-free speech law, including by many of the pro-Beijing local newspapers now praising its use.

By the time of the 1997 handover, it had not been used for decades but remained on the books.

It was dusted off by police and prosecutors in the wake of massive and sometimes violent pro-democracy protests in 2019.

Over the last two years sedition has been wielded against journalists, unionists, activists, a former pop star and ordinary citizens.

Sedition is currently separate from the sweeping national security law that Beijing imposed on Hong Kong in 2020.

But the courts treat it as a national security offence, which means that bail is often denied for those charged.

Next month Hong Kong is expected to get a new Beijing-anointed leader, former security chief John Lee who oversaw the police response to the 2019 democracy protests and subsequent crackdown.

Asked on Monday whether Au's arrest would worsen press freedom, Lee declined to comment, saying that all investigations should be carried out independently. (AFP)

Indian sari weavers toil to keep tradition alive



In a dim room near the banks of India's Ganges river, arms glide over a creaking loom as another silken fibre is guided into place with the rhythmic clack of a wooden beam 


Demand for Banarasi saris, already limited to a select Indian clientele able to justify spending at a premium, has also suffered in the wake of the Covid-19 pandemic


The fortunes of India's textile trade -- historically a cottage industry -- have long been subject to sudden and devastating upheavals from abroad (AFP/Money SHARMA)

Varanasi's hand-weavers have cultivated a reputation for excellence over centuries, specializing in intricate patterns, floral designs, and golden brocades

PHOTOS  (AFP/Money SHARMA)

Abhaya SRIVASTAVA
Sun, April 10, 2022

In a dim room near the banks of India's Ganges river, arms glide over a creaking loom as another silken fibre is guided into place with the rhythmic clack of a wooden beam.

Mohammad Sirajuddin's cramped studio is typical of Varanasi's dwindling community of artisans painstakingly working by hand to produce silk saris, uniquely cherished among their wearers as the epitome of traditional Indian sartorial style.

The city he calls home is revered among devout Hindus, who believe that cremation on the banks of its sacred waterway offers the chance to escape the infinite cycle of death and rebirth.

But Sirajuddin's own reflections on mortality are centred on his craft, with competition from more cost-efficient mechanised alternatives and cheap imports from China leaving his livelihood hanging by a thread


"If you walk around this whole neighbourhood, you'll see that this is the only house with a handloom," the 65-year-old tells AFP.

"Even this will be here only as long as I am alive. After that, nobody in this house will continue."

Varanasi's hand-weavers have cultivated a reputation for excellence over centuries, specialising in intricate patterns, floral designs and radiant golden brocades.

The Banarasi saris -- so-called in reference to the city's ancient name -- they produce are widely sought after by Indian brides and are often passed on from one generation to the next as family heirlooms.

The elegant garments fetch handsome prices -- Sirajuddin's current work will go on sale for 30,000 rupees ($390) -- but the cost of inputs and cuts taken by middlemen leave little left for weavers.

"Compared to the hard work that goes into making the sari, the profit is negligible," Sirajuddin says.

His neighbours have all switched to electric looms for their garments, which lack the subtleties of hand-woven textiles and sell for just a third of the price but take a fraction of the time to finish.

- 'Thriving industries got killed' -

The fortunes of India's textile trade -- historically a cottage industry -- have long been subject to sudden and devastating upheavals from abroad.

Its delicate fabrics were prized by the 18th century European elite but British colonisation and England's industrial-era factories flooded India with much cheaper textiles, decimating the market for hand-woven garments.

Decades of socialist-inspired central planning after independence bought some reprieve by shielding local handicrafts from the international market.


But economic reforms in the early 1990s opened the country up to cheap goods just as the country's northern neighbour was establishing itself as the globalised world's workshop.

"Chinese yarn and fabric came in everywhere," said author and former politician Jaya Jaitly, who has written a book on Varanasi's woven textiles, adding that sari factories there had for years been emulating the city's unique patterns and detail.

"All of these thriving industries got killed... through Chinese competition, and their ability to produce huge quantities at very low prices."

- 'Tradition to be proud of' -

Jaitly said local weavers needed urgent protection from government to preserve a wealth of artisanal traditions that otherwise risked disappearing.

"We have the largest number of varieties of handloom, techniques, skills... more than anywhere else in the world," she said.

"I think that's truly a tradition to be proud of."

Demand for Banarasi saris, already limited to a select Indian clientele able to justify spending at a premium, has also suffered in the wake of the Covid-19 pandemic.

The virus threat may have receded in India, but job losses and a big dent to the economy have taken their toll.

"The weavers are suffering a lot. They are not getting the right price for their products, payments are also coming late," said local sari merchant Mohammad Shahid, his store empty but for sales assistants stacking silk garments on the shelves.

Shahid was nonetheless hopeful that well-heeled and discerning customers would return.

"Those who know the value of handloom will continue to buy and cherish our saris. The handlooms can dwindle but they will never go away," Shahid, 33, told AFP.

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SEE

https://archive.org/details/Perlman_Plunder

NOT BEING DEPORTED 

Embracing Ukrainians At The US-Mexico Border

By Paula RAMON
04/10/22 

Oleksii Yeromin stands at the gate on the US-Mexico border and calls to Ukrainian migrants crossing into America after fleeing the war in their home country, then wraps them in a hug on the other side.

"Come here, come, you see this line? Here there's the last checkpoint to go through and you will be in the United States," he said in English.

Wearing a hat and carrying a blue and yellow Ukrainian flag, the 43-year-old is the first face that many Ukrainians see as they cross into the United States.

He has even marked that final step for them, tracing the letters "USA" on the ground in red tape.

"Ukraine welcomed me, now Ukraine needed me here,"says Yeromin, who is originally from Uzbekistan and emigrated several years ago to Ukraine, where he married and had two daughters.

Five years ago he decided to go to Chicago to seek a better future. This week he was reunited with his wife and daughters at the US-Mexico border. They, too, had fled the war.

Family is everything, he said. "Any money, any house, anything's doesn't matter. It's zero." He is red-eyed -- likely from the exhaustion of not having slept more than four hours a night for days now.

Oleksii Yeromin, wrapped in a Ukrainian flag, hugs a refugee as they cross the San Ysidro PedWest port of entry along the US-Mexico border between Tijuana, Baja California, and the US on April 8, 2022 in San Ysidro, California 

Photo: AFP / Patrick T. FALLON

Even after welcoming his family, the painter by trade decided to stay at the gate.

"This is minimum. They travel long, they need a hug," he said.

His eldest daughter, Katarina, 13, does not speak English, but she helps out at the care center that has been set up as part of a massive volunteer operation.

"I'm very happy because I met my dad and also for helping here," says Katarina with the help of Gisele, her new friend and interpreter.

Soon, she is handing a phone battery to a young man and offering lollipops to a little girl.

"I'm very excited. I'm privileged, lucky. I needed to give back," adds the teenager with a shy smile.

"You made it, you're here. Come here, come here," says Yeromin a few meters away, while giving out more hugs.

A massive US-Mexican effort to welcome Ukrainian refugees



Volunteers with signs welcome Ukrainian refugees as they arrive at the Tijuana, Mexico airport on their way to the US

Anastasia Chorna, 15, holds a stuffed shark while waiting in a converted sports center in Tijuana, Mexico; she and her mother had fled the war in Ukraine, but her father had to remain behind

Volunteers Liza Melnichuk (C) and Maria Melnichuk, 26-year-old twins, wait at an arrival area at the Tijuana airport to welcome arriving Ukrainian refugees

Three-year-old Anna Kuts sleeps on a suitcase after arriving with her family at the Tijuana, Mexico airport, where an army of volunteers is helping Ukrainian refugees near the end of their long voyage to the United States

Nadiya Ruyhynska (R) hugs her daughter Christina after crossing into the US from Tijuana, Mexico at the end of a long journey from Ukraine; she was one of thousands of Ukrainians entering the US from Tijuana 

PHOTOS (AFP/Patrick T. FALLON)

Paula RAMON
Sun, 10 April 2022

Nadiya Ruyhynska had almost never left Ukraine, though her daughter lives in the US city of Seattle.

But with the war looming in her hometown of Lviv, the 55-year-old former nurse set off on the long journey to the Mexican city of Tijuana, where a massive operation is helping thousands of Ukrainian refugees cross the border to resettle in the United States.

Most arrive with mixed emotions.

"I am 50-50," said the former nurse as she stepped onto American soil.

"I have happiness" at the prospect of being reunited with her pregnant daughter Christina, who has a young son, but also sadness at having left her own mother behind, she said.

Like Ruyhynska, hundreds of Ukrainians have reached the border town of Tijuana in hopes of crossing onto US soil -- encouraged by a promise from Washington that it is prepared to welcome up to 100,000 Ukrainians who have fled the war.

Pavel Savastyanov, a Russian-born volunteer helping at a support center for Ukrainians in San Ysidro, California, just across the border from Tijuana, said every flight to the area is bringing more.

- 'The first step' -

The operation begins at Tijuana International Airport. The first thing passengers see when they pass through the arrival gate is a blue-and-yellow Ukrainian flag next to signs in Cyrillic reading "Welcome" and "Help."

In a small office there, volunteers record the new arrivals' names on a list -- already bearing more than 2,300 names -- for eventual transportation to the border.

"This is the first step," said Sergio, a 36-year-old Ukrainian volunteer who declined to give his last name. He and his cousin had traveled 500 miles (800 kilometers) from Sacramento, the California capital, to help the arriving refugees.

One area in the airport is marked off with yellow tape. A sign in English and Spanish reads: "Ukrainian refugees only."

There is food and drinks, and a play corner set aside for children with crayons and coloring books.

From there, the refugees are taken to one of four housing centers that volunteers, with governmental and church support, quickly set up in this city that has long drawn thousands of Latin Americans hoping to reach the United States.

- 'My dad had to stay' -

"My dad had to stay behind," said 15-year-old Ukrainian Anastasia Chorna, choking back tears.

Sitting in a chair in the Benito Juarez sports complex, Tijuana's largest refugee center for Ukrainians, she hugged the enormous stuffed gray shark she had brought when she and her mother left home.

"It's literally the only thing I could bring," she said.

Her father, who is 41, remains in Kyiv. "I feel bad because I wanted him to be here, with these volunteers, where everything is so peaceful," Anastasia said, struggling to express herself in a language not her own.

She and her mother had passed through four countries on the long way to Mexico, where getting a visa for entry is comparatively easier for Ukrainians than to the United States.

Some men did flee Ukraine, in violation of a martial-law decree requiring all those aged 18 to 60 to stay and fight or face conscription.

"I know I committed a crime, but I didn't want to fight," said a 25-year-old engineer, who refused to give his name.

He had left Ukraine with his partner, whom he married the day war broke out, and was now waiting for his number to be called for a bus to the US border.

"I've never picked up a gun... I couldn't kill someone or watch them die. I couldn't," he said, crestfallen, in broken English.

For those who speak no English, an enormous network of volunteers is there to help.

- Growing numbers -

Twins Maria and Liza Melnichuk had emigrated with their family from Ukraine 20 years ago.

When the sisters, now 26, heard about the influx of refugees, they jumped into their car to drive the 540 miles to Tijuana to join an active rotation of volunteers working round-the-clock. As Ukrainian-speakers, they knew they could help.

"We're glad to see the people arrive," said Liza, who was able to welcome her cousins who had fled Bucha, the Ukrainian town now synonymous with charges of extreme brutality under Russian occupation.

Her sister Maria said the numbers of arrivals have been steadily growing. "On Wednesday we received some 300 people, and already today (Friday) there must have been 700."

A coordinated effort between Mexican and US authorities made the so-called Ped West entrance at the border exclusively available for the arrivals.

Buses transport hundreds of people a day to a line where they are received by Mexican officials before crossing on foot to the US side.

Once on Californian soil, the tears flow -- of joy and of sadness.

"I don't think there are words to describe what has happened, and how hard it has been," said Christina Ruyhynska after a long, emotional hug with her mother -- their first in three years.

The two women, wiping away tears, spoke briefly in Ukrainian.

Then in English, Christina turned to her mother and asked, "Are you ready to go home?"

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