PORTLAND, Ore. -- House arrest might seem like a good alternative to incarceration, especially during a pandemic, but it comes with its own costs.

Ankle shackles are outfitted for electronic monitoring, which concerns advocates for people who are detained. Babatunde Azubuike, programs coordinator for the Portland-based organization Freedom to Thrive, said technology like this can be a Trojan horse.

"It looks really nice on the outside and really great," Azubuike said. "But when you open it up and get inside, it's white supremacy, it's capitalism and patriarchy, and state control."

Azubuike said some law enforcement agencies are using the pandemic as justification to expand this kind of incarceration. Freedom to Thrive, along with the Queer Detainee Empowerment Project, Media Justice and the YaYa Network, are jointly hosting a webinar today (Wednesday) at noon (Pacific Time), to educate people about the use of electronic monitoring.

A Pew study found about 125,000 people were supervised with electronic devices in 2015, up 140% from a decade earlier.

Azubuike pointed out there are penalties people might not think about when choosing house arrest over incarceration, such as paying for the monitor, which can cost up to $400 a month.

"If you miss those payments, you're out of compliance and then, that can be cause for you to go right back into jail or prison," Azubuike said. "It puts you in this position where, again, people are being penalized for being poor."

Azubuike said decisions on electronic monitoring and how it's implemented happen on the local level.

"I think the best way to push back is to definitely get involved in a lot of these budget fights around how the police budgets are spent, and where your local money is going for these technologies," Azubuike added.

Alabama professors and students, along with the Alabama State Conference of the NAACP, have filed a federal lawsuit challenging Senate Bill 129, a law they argued restricts academic freedom and targets marginalized groups.

Alison Mollman, legal director of the ACLU of Alabama, said the law, which took effect in October, limits their ability to teach and learn about topics related to race, gender, structural inequality and social justice. She contended the vague and restrictive nature of the measure has created confusion and fear on campuses across the state, even leading to investigations of professors for teaching topics they have covered long before DEI became a prominent issue.

"These are political science, social work professors who are teaching curriculum that is understood to be reasonable and legitimate in their field," Mollman explained.

Backers believe the law prevents the promotion of political or ideological agendas in public universities and ensures state funding is not used to support programs or teachings they consider divisive or discriminatory. However, Mollman argued the law violates First Amendment protections by censoring speech, restricting access to information and controlling university funding for student organizations.

Mollman also stressed the law violates the 14th Amendment by being so vague it denies educators and students their right to due process and by intentionally discriminating against Black faculty and students, violating equal protection rights. She also pointed to other impacts, such as the Black Student Union losing its meeting space, which was turned into a food pantry, and LGBTQIA student groups losing funding and meeting spaces, adding the law's confusion has led to even more puzzling scenarios on campuses.

"There was a poster celebrating women scientists and administrators forced that poster to be taken down out of concern that it could violate SB 129," Mollman observed. "They told professors and students, 'You can put up a poster with women scientists pictured, but you can't celebrate women scientists on their own.'"

The complaint, filed Tuesday, named Gov. Kay Ivey and members of the University of Alabama Board of Trustees, including President Pro Tempore Scott Phelps, in their official capacities.


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Worker-owned cannabis cooperatives in Rhode Island are striving to help those affected by the war on drugs.

State law mandates at least six retail cannabis licenses be awarded to these co-ops, which give members a say in business operations as well as a share of profits.

Emma Karnes, organizer for the United Food and Commercial Workers Local 328, said the greatest challenge is gaining access to capital.

"The entrepreneurs in this project are by and large people without access to wealthy networks and they're up against very, very deep-pocketed corporate players," Karnes explained. "The competition is really fierce and the resources are really slim."

Karnes pointed out her union is working with other community-based groups to recruit co-op members and equip them with the resources they need. With sales of $100 million this year, Rhode Island has the nation's smallest cannabis market.

Studies have shown minorities were incarcerated for cannabis use at significantly higher rates than white people, affecting their eligibility for housing and employment. The worker co-op movement aims to ensure those affected can find job security and take ownership of cannabis legalization.

David-Allen Sumner Sr., organizer for Co-op Rhody and Break the Cycle, said it is about building generational wealth.

"With all the money that's being made, it's not being shared equally or even fairly," Sumner contended. "This is where the cooperative business model in cannabis comes into play because it is such a lucrative business."

Sumner added formerly incarcerated people like himself are learning the technical and business side of cannabis to run a successful dispensary. He stressed the worker co-op model has the potential to truly help impoverished communities and it cannot happen soon enough.

By Dakarai Turner for WISH-TV.
Broadcast version by Joe Ulery for Indiana News Service reporting for the WISH-TV-Free Press Indiana-Public News Service Collaboration

Doug Carter, the superintendent of the Indiana State Police, is just days away from stepping down after leading the state’s largest police force for over a decade.

As his tenure comes to a close, Carter reflected on a career that has spanned four decades, marked by both personal and professional challenges, triumphs and tragedies.

Carter’s journey in law enforcement began in 1984. He rose through the ranks to become Indiana’s top cop in 2013.

His leadership over the state police has seen him through numerous high-profile cases and incidents, but also through grief and heartache. Carter will retire as Gov.-elect Mike Braun assumes office in January.

Carter said, “It’s been my life. I remember when I called my dad and told him I had an interview with (former governor) Mike Pence for this position.”

Carter served two governors, navigating through turbulent times, including the loss of five law enforcement officers on duty within the first six months of 2023. Among them: troopers James Bailey and Aaron Smith.

Carter was tasked with the somber duty of presenting the American flags draped over their caskets to their grieving families.

Carter also led the state police during some of Indiana’s most heartbreaking and unresolved cases, such as the 2016 deaths of four young Black girls in Flora, killed in an arson that remains unsolved. Despite the challenges of the investigation, Carter maintains hope.

“People talk about a cold case, but as long as people are alive, it’s not cold,” he said, adding that he believes the fire may not have been an intentional murder.

Another case that Carter thinks about is the 2017 murders of two teenage girls, Abby Williams and Libby German, in Delphi. The murders shocked the state and launched a yearslong search for the killer, who was convicted earlier this month.

While the Delphi Murders case was not directly handled by the state police, Carter often found himself in the public eye as the face of the investigation. A judge has a gag order in place until the convicted killer’s sentencing set for Dec. 20.

“I can’t think of a case in our history that has gained that much attention for that length of time,” Carter said.

Asked if he had run into “political influence” during any investigation, Carter said, “I would not be sitting here If I did. I would retire that day.”

A handwritten note that bears the names of the all six girls — Keyana, Keyara, Kerriele, Kionnie, Abby and Libby — sits on his desk, affixed to a rock he said was given to him by members of the Flora community after the fire there.

Carter’s leadership, he said, is also defined by his efforts to address policing reforms, particularly in the wake of high-profile deaths of Black men at the hands of law enforcement, most notably George Floyd in 2020.

“We’re a damaged profession, and it’s going to take time to climb out of that,” he said.

Carter said he believes conversations race and policing are essential to improving the culture of law enforcement.

Carter said the scrutiny on police forces is deserved.

Carter has also used his final years to push for changes within the department, including improvements in the state’s aviation unit and forensic laboratory systems, which had been operating out of outdated facilities.

However, he expressed regret about leaving behind a “broken” recruitment system.

“We have fewer troopers today than we had in 1984 when I started,” Carter said. “And that’s one of my biggest regrets.”

As Carter prepares for retirement, he envisions a quieter life, perhaps carving wood in the comfort of his home, he said.

Before he leaves, Carter has a message for his successor.

“Always care about others, not yourself,” he said. “That’s the most important thing I would say.”


Dakarai Turner wrote this article for WISH-TV.


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