(Click on them for better quality–)
Okay so, since I have actual drawing supplies now, I wanted to do @peaches-n-lemons mayor justice. Funny thing is, os that the first time I saw Bean I thought the rain coat looked like a trench coat..ever since, i cant get the idea of Bean going around blackmailing their villagers to plant more flowers, hence the scared ducky.
Trump Against the City (3): Threatening the Byrne JAG Grant
In today’s press release from the office of Attorney General Jeff Sessions (#17-436), the Department of Justice (DOJ) announced it sent letters to nine jurisdictions across the country it believed to be in violation of 8 U.S.C. § 1373, one of the federal statutes of the United States that reads
A Federal, State, or local government entity or official may not prohibit, or in any way restrict, any government entity or official from sending to, or receiving from, the Immigration and Naturalization Service information regarding the citizenship or immigration status, lawful or unlawful, of any individual.
In other words, any city or state that currently refuses to divulge a person’s status unless he or she partakes in criminal activity received one. Previously, I wrote about the issue here:
Unsurprisingly, our Director of the Mayor’s Office of Criminal Justice Elizabeth Glazer found a DOJ notice in her inbox. As it conveys on justice.gov, she’s required to prove that New York is “in compliance” with the law “no later than June 30, 2017.” And if she fails? Well, besides being deemed ineligible for future federal aid from the Office of Justice Programs (OJP), the city could also be denied access to a Byrne JAG grant next fiscal year.
What’s a “Byrne” grant? Well, according to the records of the Bureau of Justice Assistance (BJA), a unit of the OJP, New York City has been awarded a total of $39,475,958 under it since 2009. For FY 2016, we accepted $4,298,245 in help. Officially designated “The Edward Byrne Memorial Justice Assistance Grant Program,” its funds “can be used for sate and local initiatives, technical assistance, training, personnel, equipment, supplies, contractual support, and information systems for criminal justice.” Specifically, that entails
1) Law enforcement programs; 2) Prosecution and court programs; 3) Prevention and education programs; 4) Corrections and community corrections programs; 5) Drug
treatment and enforcement programs; 6) Planning, evaluation, and technology improvement
programs; and 7) Crime victim and witness programs (other than compensation).
So the Trump administration is fine with threatening to cut a subsidy for things like this? Seriously? Didn’t the president campaign on a platform of “law and order?” Say what you will about promises, this is him not being a better friend to New York, or having a conscious connection to the history–the recent history, for that matter–of his birthplace.
The Byrne grant is named in honor of Patrolman Edward Byrne, a 22-year-old rookie cop who was murdered as he sat in his police car in Jamaica, Queens on February 26, 1988. It was front page news here:
(Screenshot via the New York Daily News. February 27, 1988.)
Moreover, in their book Undisclosed Files of the Police: Cases from the Archives of the NYPD , authors Bernard Whalen, Philip Messing, and Robert Mladinich noted that
Outrage over Byrne’s death reverberated throughout the country: President Ronald Reagan called the Byrne family to express his personal condolences. Vice President George H. W. Bush took to carrying Byrne’s police shield during his 1988 presidential campaign after the slain officer’s father presented it to him.
(Bush with Byrne’s shield. Photo courtesy of beaufortteaparty.blogsopt.com.)
With a little research, the Trump administration could easily have refreshed its collective memories. It could have grasped just how cruel the irony of threatening a Bryne appropriation night be. I mean, how will it reconcile the possibility of having to deny our city’s application for a grant, one named in honor of a civil servant of this city who was born, raised, and killed here?
Are you still taking prompts? I'm not sure, but if you are, some e/R would be lovely, coffee shop au? (or any equivalent. library au, bakery au, etc.)
The first time Grantaire meets the head of the local Local Business Association, he’s been up since three in the morning baking and he has flour all over his face. He knows this because Eponine polished up the glass display case for their baked goods when she came in at quarter to seven and he can see his reflection in it, and his reflection has white flour standing out on his face and hair.
“You’re the owner of Sticks and Scones,” the stranger across the counter informs him, like he doesn’t already know.
“I regret that situation every time my alarm wakes me up before dawn,” he says solemnly. “Can I ask who you are? And why Eponine fetched me out of the back and the holy ritual of the scones-are-baking mini-nap to see you?”
The stranger across the counter (who is, upon further examination, maybe the most beautiful single human being Grantaire has ever met and probably the second-grumpiest) holds out his hand to shake and doesn’t even flinch when he ends up with flour on his hand. “I’m Enjolras, and I own the Fair Trade grocery down the street, and I’m the head of the Local Business Association for the town, fighting to keep our main street locally owned. I thought I’d give you a few weeks to settle in before I came to speak to you.”
Grantaire turns plaintively to Eponine, who’s coaxing the coffee machine into producing sweet nectar. “You interrupted me for this?”
“Do you want to go back to sticking pans of pre-made shit in the oven at Starbucks?” she asks. “Because we can arrange that.”
“We have a very active downtown, and we’re trying to keep it that way,” Enjolras forges on. “We frequently have events, and rewards for shopping at multiple stores, and other arrangements to attract business to the area, and we hope that you’ll join us. It’s been a while since we had a bakery downtown, and we’re very glad to have you.”
Eponine elbows him, and Grantaire realizes he’s probably staring stupidly. “I’m just here to bake bread,” he says.
“If you’ll just listen to what I have to say, I promise you won’t regret the opportunity.”
Grantaire sighs and grabs a few of his best croissants out of the case, and a jar of peach-raspberry jam, hand-canned by him last summer, out of where they keep their condiments. “Sit down, we’ll have something to eat and you can tell me about your crusade to save the world one downtown at a time.”
An hour later, Enjolras has eaten two croissants with jam, one almond poppyseed muffin, and one savoury scone, all with increasing looks of surprise and muffled pornographic noises, and he and Grantaire have had no less than three arguments about corporate sponsorship, the future of the downtown, and how much harm discounts do businesses.
He expects Enjolras to leave in a snit, but instead when he’s ready to leave, he holds out his hand to shake again and smiles. “I’ll look forward to working with you, Grantaire.”
“You too,” says Grantaire, almost by accident, and sees him out the door, the shop bell tinkling as he goes.
It isn’t until he looks at the display case again that he realizes he never managed to brush the flour off his face.
[Simon] "This is but a ploy to gain time for them..." [Simon] "...to fabricate evidence! How will I sleep tonight..."
[Simon] "...knowing you will not let the sun rise..." [Simon] "...on the mayor's day of reckoning, Justice-dono?"
[Apollo] "I won't fabricate any evidence!"
[Simon] "Then prove it by joining me."
[Simon] "A night in the clink will ensure..." [Simon] "...you will not succumb to temptation!"
[Apollo] "How about I just promise..." [Apollo] "...not to succumb to anything?"