#mystal icons

[fcking5sos]

happy birthday to my favourite boy!! <3

[mcliffordicons]

what a couple!!!

[cliffordween]

metadinha mystal !

like or reblog if you save :)

[thathellokittyb1tch]

Michael and Crystal on Halloween

like/reblog if u save xx

[90363462]

MSNBC’s Abrupt Cancellation of ‘The Cross Connection’ Is A Blow To Black Voters And Democracy

Removing Cross from the airwaves effectively denies Black strategists and organizers a platform to discuss the issues and concerns of Black voters ahead of the midterm elections.

Source: Leigh Vogel / Getty

Just days before the 2022 midterm election and cable news giant reportedly cut ties with popular weekend host Tiffany Cross. MSNBC’s cancellation of the “Cross Connection” is reminiscent of how the cable giant snatched the airwaves away from another veteran journalist. The current host and managing editor of WNYC’s “The Takeaway,” Professor Melissa Harris-Perry, was previously dismissed from MSNBC in a very ugly manner.

Harris-Perry tweeted she had no insight into what happened but had very high praise for Cross.

“One thing is certain–@TiffanyDCross will always have my support and solidarity. Proud of what she’s accomplished. Excited to see what she’ll do next,” Tweeted Harris-Perry.

#WheresTiffany trended early Saturday afternoon on Twitter. Using the hashtag, Alicia Garza tweeted that she was scheduled to be on “The Cross Connection” to discuss polling of Black voters.

Removing Cross from the airwaves effectively denies Black strategists and organizers a platform to discuss the issues and concerns of Black voters ahead of the midterm elections. Cross called the abrupt termination of her show “disheartening” after alleged calls for reckoning with race in media after the 2020 uprisings.

“Now is not the retreat to politics or journalism as usual,” Cross said in a statement. “It is my hope that the last two years at MSNBC have been disruptive and transformative, changing how politics are discussed and making policy more digestible.”

She also called attention to the increase in political violence and the danger of speaking the truth and challenging the open resurgence of white supremacy. Many on Twitter pointed out the timing of the show’s end, given Cross was recently targeted by Fox host Tucker Carlson. Iconic civil rights attorney Sherrilyn Ifill noted that MSNBC’s action further emboldened Carlson.

Elie Mystal, justice correspondent at The Nation and a frequent contributor to “The Cross Connection,” called out the high price of “telling the truth about white people to white people.”

“Tiffany was special because she proactively centered her work and her voice in nonwhite audiences,” Mystal tweeted. It’s not that she didn’t care what white people thought. It’s that she refused to bend her voice around those forces. She was willing to pay the price to uplift nonwhite voices.

A clear example of the “Cross Connection” commitment to uplifting news and commentary that centered non-white communities can be seen in a recent interview with Tax Professor Dorothy Brown, highlighting the crisis of corporate price gouging amid record inflation.

Cross recently joined Jemele Hill in sharing a message with Black Voters Matter supporters about Democracy being on the ballot and the importance of engaging in the upcoming election.

But MSNBC’s abrupt cancellation of “The Cross Connection” also highlights the importance of a robust Black media committed to engaging with the issues impacting our communities. Building an apparatus committed to news and uplifting powerful stories challenges the status quo and provides a pathway forward for change.

SEE ALSO:  

Tiffany Cross Calls Out Mainstream Media’s Attempted Rehabilitation Of Trump Administration Officials

Herschel Walker Says He’d Put His ‘Resume’ Up Against Barack Obama’s ‘Any Time’

Tennessee Gerrymandering And Voter Suppression Make A Mess Of Multiple State Races

16 photos

[myboymendess]

DONT👏CALL👏CRYSTAL👏LEIGH👏UGLY👏WHEN👏YOU👏DAMN👏WELL👏KNOW👏SHE👏AINT👏BECAUSE👏MICHAEL👏CHOSE👏HER👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏

[5sosbitchfest]

can I just bring up that Liz hasn’t (in the last two years at least) posted anything for Calum’s and Ashton’s birthdays but has for michael? an icon

I mean…that’s because Liz knows what’s up. Like I’ve no doubt she knows Mystal/Lierra is some BS and that her the love of her son’s life is actually Michael.

That being said, can we talk about how AnneMarie and Joy are like bffs?? I love when in-laws are close. ;)

[normanevansmusic]

Legal expert @ElieNYC: The failure to pass the John Lewis Voting Rights Act is a failure to protect the Democratic base. #reiders....

[mcliffordicons]

aleatorios

[crystalleigh]

Crystal Lleigh + Michael Clifford (mystal) icons

like/credit @lukegirly on twitter

[fanfictionlive]

First Telkan [First Contact Fanfiction]

Part One: Displacement

[A/N 1: This is going to be a fanfiction crossover between First Contact, an ongoing novel on Reddit by u/Ralts_Bloodthorne and Worm, a webnovel by Wildbow. I make no claim to either property. This is merely a fun look at what happens when two worlds interact for the first time.]

[A/N 2: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]

[A/N 3: I will follow the canon of both stories as closely as I can. If I find something that canon does not cover, I will make stuff up. If canon then refutes me, I will revise. Do not bother me with fanon; corrections require citations.]

[A/N 4: I welcome criticism of my works, but if you tell me that something is wrong, I also expect an explanation of what is wrong, and a suggestion of how to fix it. Note that I do not promise to follow any given suggestion.]

[A/N 5: Initial chapter of First Contact can be found here. First chapter with Vuxten in it can be found here.]

Introduction: First Contact

Another day, another tortured cityscape.

The war against the Devourers raged on.

It was up to the forces of TerraSol and its allies to destroy the last remnants of the bio-invasion before they could grow more of themselves and turn a failed invasion back into a planetwide swarm. To do that required boots on the ground, a thinking brain behind a magac rifle. Joining the fight to wipe out the last of the attackers were Pure Strain Terrans, genemods, warborgs, Fidos and fishbois on killboi mode and xenosapients from a dozen worlds.

V Corps (Old Metal) thundered across the landscape, blowing apart malevolent plants and gigantic bugs as fast as their cannon could generate new ammunition from the nanoforges. In the cities it was harder going, so the Marines went in. Along with them were the Telkan Scouts; a gentle people forged into soldiers by the relentless pressures of war. Small and agile and possessed of well-trained instincts, they had proven themselves against the biowarfare of the Lanaktallan Devourers, and now they were being called on again.

First Telkan, highly regarded by all branches of the TerraSol military, led the way. Taking point was Lieutenant Vuxten, decorated war hero and subject of a thousand combat-related memes considered hilarious by all but his wife. Sales of his action figures numbered in the billions.

Since being enfolded by the TerraSol war machine, he had learned his lessons well. Keep moving, keep your head on a swivel and always trust your greenie. This was the last push, the one to kick the bio-plague in its teeth once and for all.

It Will Be Done.

<><>

Vuxten

The shoulder-mounted grenade launcher thumped off three rounds, but Vuxten was already on the move. Sprinting up the mound of rubble, he rolled over the top as the explosions went off, decapitating the thirty-foot-long snake-thing that had been trying to ingest him. On his shoulder, the foot-high armoured green mantid called 471 popped up and fired off a spread of micro-missiles at a dog-sized creature that was trying to sneak up on them. The missiles detonated it in mid-leap, chitin pinging off his armour.

His creation engine read out as 25% heat, 13% slush. He was good for the moment, manufacturing more grenades for the launcher. The readout on his helmet HUD showed the rest of his squad nearby and closing in on his signal.

A small piece of rubble moved half an inch, and his eyes narrowed; reaching out, he wrapped his gauntleted hand around a piece of protruding rebar. The slightest quiver against the sensitive part of his palm verified his suspicions.

“Vuxten here. I’ve got ground vibration. Something big’s coming this way.”

“There’s nothing on sensors.” That showed up as a Major Chambers, doubt in his voice.

“Sir, I’ve been in the jungle with Vuxten. If he says something’s coming, something’s coming.” He recognised the icon that popped up then. Captain Clynes was a full-conversion cyborg, and a good officer to work with.

“I concur. How big do you think, Vux?” Lieutenant General Trucker, 58% metal and almost as big as a full-conversion warborg, was talking from the turret of his three thousand ton main battle tank Cry Little Sister, nearly 150 miles away. He and Vuxten had fought side by side more than once, and they understood each other well.

471 flashed up an image of a giant roach wearing huge fluffy slippers and Vuxten blinked to acknowledge it. “471 and I both think it’s large, maybe as large as your tank, but it’s got advanced stealth systems, including vibration damping. I think this might be their last-ditch effort. All or nothing. Sneak past the encirclement and put down roots someplace quiet.”

“I copy, Vuxten.” Chambers was quiet for a moment. “We need more data. Satellite overwatch is giving us nothing for that area. If you can get us a location, we can hit it from a distance. Can do?”

“Can do, sir.” Vuxten racked his magac rifle and engaged the minimal stealth systems that had been built into his suit. 471 clicked “ride or die”, then flashed up an image of a small rodent wearing Telkan combat gear sneaking up to put a bell around the neck of a huge cartoon purrboi.

As Vuxten eased through a gap between two chunks of rubble, he was joined by another Scout. Private Tellex was a fast learner and sought to emulate Vuxten in everything he did, which was a little flattering, but he hoped the youngster was paying as much attention to the drill sergeants. They were there for a reason.

Using the lowest power available to him, Vuxten sent an icon to Tellex that indicated ‘passive sensors only’. He didn’t want anything radiative to alert the bio-creature to their presence. Tellex hand-signed understanding, and they moved on.

The next street seemed clear, if Vuxten discounted several large craters marring the road surface. No huge war machines bulked into sight. He rapidly flicked through several vision options and found nothing. Inside his helmet, his whiskers twitched. Despite the evidence of his eyes and sensors, he knew something was there.

Tellex touched his shoulder and pointed upward. Vuxten looked, squinting to zoom in with his cybernetic eye. Temporarily clear of the clouds of smoke and dust, the night sky above was clear. Stars twinkled here and there … but several of them shifted from side to side, smearing slightly.

Oh. Oh shit. Advanced active camouflage.

It wasn’t totally over the top of them, but it was very close by. Vuxten gave Tellex the ‘withdraw’ signal, just as he felt the tiny vibration through his feet that time. It was big, but it had long legs like a spider. And one of those legs had come down very close to them. Within yards, if he had to guess.

Once Tellex was about ten yards back and almost out of sight, Vuxten started back himself. 471, clad in his own warsteel armour, flashed up an image of a human wearing a ridiculous cloth mask over his eyes, with a bag bearing an ancient symbol for currency, sneaking past a snoring householder.

Step by careful step, he began to retreat as well.

And then he heard the almost subliminal rising hum of an organic weapons system powering up, behind him. The icon for “RUN” flashed in his HUD. From a standing start, he broke into a sprint. At the same time, 471 opened the radio channel for him.

“Danger close, danger close, fire on my position!” Vuxten called. “Tango up high, I say again, up high!” His shoulder guns, pointing backward and up, opened up on the monstrous creature while his launchers went to rapid fire, reloading as fast as the nanoforge could supply the ammunition. He left it to 471 to call the shots; he was moving as fast as he could through the maze of rubble left by the collapsed building, springing from one foothold to another with all the power that his armour could supply him. Flares and chaff burst out in a cloud all around him as 471 did his best to spoof the enemy’s aim.

Several of the rockets splashed fire against empty air, and the others corrected aim to hit the same point, blinking the active-camouflage field off and on again. A howling storm of exotic energies descended around Vuxten as the gigantic organism returned fire. Clinging to his back, 471 alerted him to potential hits which he dived aside from, ignoring the bits of rubble that clattered against their armour.

And then the incoming fire arrived, and things got even more chaotic. They’d had time to line up everything they could throw at this thing. They didn’t know what it was using for battlescreens and what would get through, so it was ‘just shoot the thing’ time.

In the midst of all this, Vuxten ran, dived, jumped, rolled, dodged …

… and was hit by a purple-edged beam that caused him, 471, and two tons of rubble to simply vanish.

A tenth of a second later, just as it realised it was shooting at the wrong target, the incoming fire figured out the frequency of its battlescreens, then punched through into its brain and the highly-unstable chemicals it was using to sustain its weapons fire. An uncontrolled reaction then took place, and things got very noisy.

When the smoke cleared, all that remained was a crater and a lot of bug guts.

<><>

Five Hours Later

“Where. Is. My. Husband?”

Like Vuxten, Brentili’ik was a Telkan. She stood a shade under four feet tall and looked not unlike an anthropomorphic fox, albeit with a wider muzzle, larger eyes, and flat, plant-eating teeth. Her pelt was a dappling of brown, black and white, and her short tail curled up behind her to show her displeasure. She also wore the uniform of a Planetary Director, which meant she outranked virtually everyone else in the solar system. Anyone she didn’t outrank was staying back out of the way; this was her show.

Fewer than three years before, she’d been a humble cleaner, who wouldn’t have dared speak out of turn to a soldier or anyone in authority. Now she was someone in authority, and she had questions to ask. If they didn’t like the tone of her voice, that was their problem.

“Ah, Director Brentili’ik, what happened to your husband is a unique situation. If he’d been killed, his SUDS would’ve sent a termination message, and we’d be rebuilding him on the latest template right now. But it didn’t. In fact, we’ve got some good news and some bad news.”

Her large, mobile ears twitched as she turned toward the human scientist who’d spoken. “That’s more promising than simply bad news. What’s the good news?”

“We believe he’s still alive,” the scientist said, then hastened to cover his own tracks. “Or at least, the beam didn’t kill him.”

Brentili’ik gestured for him to continue. “And the bad news?”

“It sent him elsewhere, but we’re not sure where exactly.” The human, who was a Major in his own right, grimaced at the wrinkle that formed on the brow of the diminutive Telkan woman. “As far as we can tell, the beam was designed to suck things into jumpspace and spit them out within a couple of lightseconds of travel. But that’s not what happened.”

“How do you know?” she asked.

“Because he had a green mantid with him. 471. Crazy little dude, but he knows one end of a wrench from the other. That little guy could’ve made over Vuxten’s suit into a self-contained spacecraft and we’d not only know where they were by now, but they’d be coming back under their own power. So he’s not in local space. But the beam couldn’t have shot him farther under normal conditions. However, there was a lot of energy flying around that could have heterodyned the beam, so it could’ve theoretically punched him up further into the bands than anyone’s gone. What happens when you get that high, where you go to, is anyone’s guess. Nobody’s ever come back from that.”

For a herbivore, Brentili’ik’s stare was particularly predatory. “I suggest you endeavour to find out, and then bring my husband back. Our podlings need their father, and our broodcarriers call out his name in their sleep. Cost is no obstacle.” Turning, she strode away, her security warborgs falling into step alongside her.

“Yes, ma’am.” The scientists, galvanised into action, went back to the task of analysing from the battlefield recordings exactly what had happened to the beam, and thus the missing Lieutenant Vuxten and 471, at the instant that they’d disappeared.

Project: Find Vuxten had just taken a huge jump in priority but even with the resources of an entire planetary government at their disposal, it would not be an easy task.

<><>

In Another Iteration of Reality

“Whoa!” Along with two tons of plascrete and other debris and a foot-high armoured mantid, Vuxten burst out through a tear in space. He rolled, came to his feet, unracked his magac rifle and used graviton-spikes from his boots to anchor himself while he swivelled his helmet, seeking targets for his onboard ordnance. The tear in space neatly closed up again, leaving Vuxten with ringing ears and nothing to shoot at. He tabbed a piece of gum and chewed on it while he scanned around again. The plascrete steamed gently, as did his armour; from the looks of it, everything organic had been scoured off both of them from the passage through … wherever that had been.

“471, you seeing this?”

The mantid clicked an affirmative, keeping his own lookout atop Vuxten’s helmet with a micro-missile launcher. Vuxten could see in his helmet HUD that the little greenie was mapping the local area and comparing it to where they’d just been. He could also see that there were no real points of correlation. The buildings were all intact, if dilapidated, but they looked … old. Like a colony that had been built using lowtech methods and hadn’t upgraded to the latest building materials. Electrical lights glared from overhead poles.

“Where are we?”

471 didn’t have an answer. He flashed up an icon of a hero steadfastly looking over the cityscape from atop a tall building, then kept mapping. A tiny drone popped out of the nanoforge and zoomed skyward, connected to Vuxten’s systems by a whisker-laser. No sense in letting everyone know they were here, until they found out where ‘here’ was.

“Good idea,” Vuxten agreed, and headed for an alley. Leaping up to the wall, he used the graviton-spikes as anchors to jump to a higher viewpoint. Two leaps later, he was on the rooftop. It didn’t help ease his confusion.

The city spread out in all directions. There were no rising clouds of dust or smoke. Radiation count was minimal; strictly background. A distant siren sounded, but there was no gunfire, no explosions. Even the gravity felt subtly different. The drone was feeding him a city map that showed him where he was. The trouble was, it didn’t match any city in his databanks.

471 nudged his helmet around to the right. Bringing the rifle up, he turned and looked. A half-moon was just rising at what his armour agreed was approximately ninety degrees to magnetic north. It was a big satellite, with markings …

“471, check starmaps. I think I know where we are.”

It was ridiculous. It was impossible. But unless someone had gone so far as to rebuild their planet’s satellite to a particular pattern, there could be no other place. He and Brentili’ik had watched too many old Terran movies with their broodcarriers and podlings to mistake it. She enjoyed the romantic ones, and he just enjoyed being with her. With his family.

While 471 worked, the drone turning its sensors skyward and checking the star patterns against known starmaps, he squinted to zoom in toward the darkened half of the moon. If he was right, he’d be picking up the pinpoints of the domed city lights about … now.

That was strange. There were no lights to be seen. He could see the darkened half, lit by planetshine, but there was no evidence of any settlement on the satellite. A chill worked its way down his back, and he chewed the gum a little harder.

“starmaps weird” 471 clicked out. The mantid projected a series of constellations on Vuxten’s HUD. “starmaps here”. Then he switched to a subtly different one. “northern hemisphere terra”.

Vuxten frowned and flicked back and forth between them. They were almost identical, but a few of the stars changed relative position almost imperceptibly from one image to the next. “Okay. That is weird.” He knew how astrogation worked, and how starmaps didn’t change from one location on a planet to another.

They’d taught him a lot since he’d become an officer.

What it didn’t explain was why the stars above didn’t quite match his databanks for Terra. There was always the possibility that he was in a simulation, though for what reason he didn’t know. Well, there was one way to find out. “Okay, you got me. Good one. End simulation.”

Nothing happened.

Okay, either it’s not a simulation or there’s a reason they’re keeping me in it. Best to assume it’s real for the moment.

His armour wasn’t detecting anything dangerous outside so he popped his faceplate to take a breath of the local air. It smelled … like a city. The faint tang of internal-combustion engine hydrocarbon pollution, dust, hot metal. There was an answer here, somewhere. He was alive, and 471 was with him. They’d been together during the worst of the fighting, and they’d come through against what had seemed to be impossible odds at the time. He’d figure out what was going on, and how to get back home.

“got it” clicked 471, then the mantid flashed up a series of emojis that indicated ‘you are not going to believe this shit’.

“Okay, what is it?” He closed his faceplate again, and hunkered down, magac rifle still in his hands. “Where are we?”

Deep down, he thought he already knew, but getting confirmation was always good.

The two starmaps flicked back and forth a couple of times, then one shifted to fit over the other. A readout showed up in the corner of the image. As the starfield moved to fit, digits rolled over. He watched them, his mouth going dry despite the gum. When they finished, he had to blink twice to take in the readout. -8,000 Years, ±500.

“Double-check that,” he said, keeping his voice steady. “See if you can link us into local communications. There’s got to be a time clock somewhere.”

“roger roger” The starmaps went away, but the number remained. Vuxten stood up again, looking around at the city with new eyes. Eight thousand years ago, Terra had been on the verge of making it into space. So many things hadn’t happened yet. The ecological collapse. The great glassing. The rebuilding. All the wars.

He owed Terra everything. What he was now, what he had, was only because Terran soldiers had seen some potential in a bunch of so-called ‘neo-sapient’ menial workers being drafted into an ad hoc security force by uncaring Lanaktallan Overseers. It was only because of them that he and his family had survived the madness that followed. That his species had survived it.

And now he was on their birthworld, before everything happened.

They helped me. I can’t leave without helping them. Warn them of the Mantid Overqueen treachery, at least. Tell them where the Lanaktallans are, and what they’re doing. Give them a heads-up on the Precursor machines and the bio-war fleets. Even the Mar-gites. Anything that will save a few Terran lives.

Raising his faceplate and standing up again, he looked skyward. He didn’t even know where his home star was from Terra, or if it was visible from the planet’s surface. He’d have to look that up.

But right now, he had three steps to follow.

Number one: survive.

Number two: figure out a way to get home again, whether by travelling to Telkan and going into stasis until he woke up eight thousand years in the future, or figuring a way back through the hole in space.

Number three: work out how to offer as much support as he could without disrupting the timeline before he left.

Everything else was just detail.

submitted by /u/ack1308 [link] [comments] from FanFiction: Where Magical Ponies battle Imperial Titans https://ift.tt/3edyjPz

[duaneodavila]

Jacob Wohl Thinks He Knows About RBG’s Job Status, Doesn’t

Last night, total bollocks showed up in my Twitter feed, courtesy of Jacob Wohl. It was stupid on its face, but we live in such a lunatic country right now that it feels like anything could be true.

Sources saying Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg will resign tomorrow

— Jacob Wohl (@JacobAWohl) January 10, 2019

Jacob Wohl, last seen getting caught in lo-tech scheme to smear Robert Mueller, is unlikely to have inside information about Ruth Bader Ginsburg’s plans.

(Photo by Michael Loccisano/Getty Images)

Justice Ginsburg’s recent health scares have left the right wing ghoulishly giddy. Having just forced Brett Kavanaugh upon a reluctant nation, they dream of pushing out feminist icon. I’d guess that Wohl saw reports, like this one, of the right wing preparing for Ginsburg’s “vacancy,” and did… whatever it is he does.

The only way Trump is getting Ruth Bader Ginsburg’s seat is if she leaves in a body bag. That woman will literally die first (please don’t die). She will not just give Trump an opportunity to replace her. The notion that she’d voluntarily retire because of declining health is ludicrous.

Every liberal court watcher remembers the tragedy of Thurgood Marshall. In failing health, Marshall hung on through the Reagan years. He tried to last through George H.W. Bush’s term, but retired in 1991, letting Bush replace him with what turned out to be Clarence Thomas. Marshall didn’t want to be a Supreme Court justice in name only, and when he couldn’t do the job anymore, he left.

But Marshall didn’t actually die until January 24th, 1993, a few weeks after Bill Clinton took office. If he had spent two years on extended sick leave, pretending to still be a justice, the entire country would have been spared the Thomas experience.

Ginsburg is unlikely to forget that.

And anyway, according to her doctors she is recovering fine and will be back at the bench in a month.

“This is completely routine,” Dr. Raja Flores, chairman for the Department of Thoracic Surgery at the Mount Sinai Medical Center, told MSNBC’s Rachel Maddow on Thursday night.

“But it is a big operation. It is a very difficult operation to recover from, but she did very well. She was home in four days. You can’t expect her to be back this soon. She’s only a couple of weeks out of surgery.

“I had an appendectomy when I was 42, and I was out of commission for a month. She’s 85 and had half of her lung removed. We have to be patient. She will be back and she will be fine.”

Flores, who has worked with Ginsburg’s doctor, also noted that younger patients who had the same surgery went on to run marathons after their recovery. “I’m not suggesting that she’s going to run a marathon. But the Notorious RBG will be back on that bench,” Flores said. “The administration trying to find her replacement to me makes no sense. She’ll be back in full form, I’d say within a month.”

My response to Wohl last night still holds:

Possibility A: RBG is voluntarily stepping down to give Trump a SCOTUS appointment, having repeatedly decided to not make that choice under Obama.

Possibility B: Jacob fucking Wohl https://t.co/V9XUxWUCGz

— Elie Mystal (@ElieNYC) January 10, 2019

RUTH BADER GINSBURG: TOP NEW YORK DOCTOR TELLS RACHEL MADDOW SUPREME COURT JUSTICE ‘WILL BE BACK AND SHE WILL BE FINE’ [Newsweek]

Elie Mystal is the Executive Editor of Above the Law and the Legal Editor for More Perfect. He can be reached @ElieNYC on Twitter, or at elie@abovethelaw.com. He will resist.

[myboymendess]

happy valentines day ✨❤

[marymosley]

The Washington Post Settles With Nicholas Sandmann

YouTube Screenshot

The Washington Post settled a lawsuit filed by the family of a teenager Nicholas Sandmann who was falsely labeled a racist who aggressively attacked an elderly Native American activist during a visit to the Lincoln Memorial with his high school class. The false account of the incident was widely circulated in the media. He was attacked on networks like MSNBC and CNN as well as in newspapers like the Post. He sued the Washington Post for $250 million but the settlement terms were not disclosed.

Sandmann, then 16, was accused by CNN and other outlets of harassing activist Nathan Phillips.  The students denied the accusation but many in the media ran with the attacks on the high school student as a racist Trump supporter abusing an elderly Native American. Videotaped showed it was the Covington students who were being harassed.

In agreeing to the settlement, Sandmann’s counsel stated that his client “agreed to settle with the Post because the Post was quick to publish the whole truth—through its follow-up coverage and editor’s notes.”  That is still not the case with many who viciously attacked this teenager.

We previously discussed the case and the example of one such segment involving “Above the Law” writer Joe Patrice in his interview with The Nation’s Elie Mystal, In the interview, Mystal, the Executive Editor of “Above the Law”, attacked this 16 year old boy as a racist.  Patrice agreed with Mystal’s objections to Sandmann wearing his “racist [MAGA] hat.” They also objected to Sandmann doing interviews trying to defend himself with Mystal deriding how this “17-year-old kid makes the George Zimmerman defense for why he was allowed to deny access to a person of color.” Putting aside the fact that Sandmann was not denying “access to a person of color,”  Mystal and Patrice were comparing this high school student to a man who was accused of murdering an unarmed African American kid and even assailing his effort to clear his name as the media continued to label him a racist. It was typical of much of today’s rage-filled commentary. These two writers had no qualms in attacking some kid as a racist in the national media while abusing him for trying to defend his reputation.  It was the popular thing to do in piling on Sandmann. He was merely a vehicle for the release of rage without the burden of reason or research.

Many writers who joined the mob attacking Sandmann have never apologized.  They just moved on to the next target to be declared a racist in a summary media judgment.

Indeed, Mystal has continued to slam Sandmann in postings on “Above the Law.”  In one such posting, Mystal wrote in part:

Fresh on the heels of Clarence Thomas wishing he could rewrite the First Amendment to make it easier to sue people, we’re getting a glimpse of what that dystopian future would look like. A team of lawyers have filed a $250 million defamation suit against the Washington Post, on behalf of Nick Sandmann and his family.

The suit alleges many bad things happened to Sandmann after his encounter with Nathan Phillips in front to the Lincoln Memorial. It does not allege that there was no encounter in front of Lincoln Memorial, or that the encounter was captured on video. Seeing as a truth is a defense to any defamation claim, it would be surprising for the lawsuit to survive a motion to dismiss.

I generally do not like lawsuits against the media, which often seek to punish good writers or reporters for performing a vital role in our constitutional system. I have repeatedly criticized President Trump for attacks on the media, his lawsuits, and seeking to change defamation rules.  This is the essence of the protections forged in New York Times v. Sullivan. However, these lawsuits by Sandmann are more important in seeking to reinforce the most basic demands of journalism.  The issue was never whether there was “an encounter” at Lincoln Memorials. Such “encounters” occur all the time in Washington. This encounter became the focus of overwhelming national coverage because it purportedly showed a Trump supporter in a MAGA hat abusing an elderly Native American.

The lawsuit against The Post was reinstated after the court removed claims that were arguably opinions as opposed to factual statements.  The court focused on factual claims that Sandmann “blocked” Phillips and other fact issues that were allowed to proceed to discovery.  The rest of the lawsuit was previously dismissed. Some lawsuits are continuing toward trial.

I am glad that the matter was settled and we avoided the potential for negative precedent against journalists. However, there remain troubling ethical issues. The sense of utter abandon in such false accounts is itself a danger to good journalism.  We have seen recently how even iconic newspapers like The New York Times have yielded to the demand of the echo-journalistic model. The echo in the Sandmann story was to trash a teenager in the national media for something that he did not do. However, his wearing of a MAGA hat was enough evidence to defame him and mark him as a racist.

Even if Mystal believes that everyone wearing such a hat is a racist, there has to be a modicum of lingering decency (even a degree of regret) when a high school student is singled out falsely for abusing a Native American activist.

Notably, Mystal insisted “If enough of the media lives in fear of any teen in a MAGA hat, then this lawsuit was a success even if (when) it gets thrown out of court on a rail.” Mystal somehow makes the media a victim after responsible outlets admitted that it got the story wrong and that Sandmann did not harass this activist. The Post corrected its false reporting as have other outlets like CNN.  Good journalists do not fear teens in MAGA hats.  They fear getting stories wrong and unfairly attacking people without cause.

The Post, unlike Mystal, was not offering opinion commentary. I would defend Mystal’s right to engage in this type of vicious and reckless commentary.  Indeed, I have been a target on the site. It is the price we pay for free speech. We often defend people on this blog with whom we vehemently disagree. Indeed, today I criticized a suggestion of a libel lawsuit from the acting Homeland Security Secretary against Speaker Nancy Pelosi for her calling federal law enforcement officers “stormtroopers.” While insulting and irresponsible, it remains opinion. However, actual journalists have obligations of accuracy and fairness that are not so easily discarded.  This kid did nothing wrong in going to the Lincoln Memorial wearing a MAGA hat. Yet he became virtual chew toy for unhinged and unfair accusations of racism and intimidation.

This settlement was the right thing to do for the Post.

The Washington Post Settles With Nicholas Sandmann published first on https://immigrationlawyerto.tumblr.com/

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