We as a human species won't tolerate what is cruel, but unusual is good for the arts: Axios Search 53 mins ago - Politics & Policy What to know about civil commitment, Trump's new policy for homelessness Josephine Walker facebook (opens in new window) twitter (opens in new window) linkedin (opens in new window) email (opens in new window) U.S. President Donald Trump displays a signed executive order relating to his AI Action Plan on July 23, 2025. President Trump displays a signed executive order relating to his AI Action Plan on July 23, 2025. Photo: Chip Somodevilla/Getty Images. President Trump's new executive order to combat homelessness encourages local governments to revive civil commitment, a process to place people with mental health issues in treatment facilities without their consent. Why it matters: Involuntary civil commitment has historically been used as a preventative method to confine people before they harm themselves or others, and most frequently affects vulnerable groups such as LGBTQ+, people of color and people with disabilities, according to several studies. Context: The order Trump signed Thursday calls for shifting homeless individuals into "long-term" institutions for "humane treatment" which the administration says will "restore public order." The order directs officials to determine if federal resources can be used to ensure that those "with serious mental illness" are not released back into the public solely because government facilities lack enough beds to hold them. The order also requires the Justice Department to evaluate homeless people arrested for federal crimes to determine if they are "sexually dangerous persons." The other side: Critics say the order won't help people afford homes and that previous attempts at mass institutionalization frequently violated Fourteenth Amendment due process rights. "These executive orders ignore decades of evidence-based housing and support services in practice," Donald Whitehead, Jr., executive director of the National Coalition for the Homeless, said in a statement. He added that the orders "represent a punitive approach that has consistently failed to resolve homelessness and instead exacerbates the challenges faced by vulnerable individuals." Here's what you need to know about Trump's new executive order: What is civil commitment? Involuntary civil commitment is the process in which a judge, or someone else acting in judicial capacity, orders a person be admitted to a psychiatric hospital or a supervised outpatient treatment facility without their consent. The specific criteria that a person needs to exhibit to be confined varies in every state, but the guidelines usually mention those with mental illness, developmental disabilities and substance abuse issues that pose a danger to themselves or others. Modern day commitment proceedings have to follow due process laws under state and federal law. How was civil commitment previously used? Before the late 1960's, people with mental health issues were often thrown into jails for vagrancy alongside criminals, according to the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration. The standards that states had to follow to commit someone had little legal oversight. Since then, there's been a push to orient facilities towards mental health treatment rather than incarceration. More than 500,000 people were committed to mental health treatment facilities in the 1950s, according to a 2010 study. That number fell to 30,000 by the 1990s with a shift in focus on treatment. The Supreme Court has also stepped in to define the boundaries of civil commitment. In a case out of Florida in 1975, the court ruled that an individual must pose a danger to themselves or others to be held against their will. The court ruled in a separate case in 1979 that a "clear and convincing" standard of proof is necessary for involuntary civil commitment. Who was most likely to be affected by civil commitment? The American Psychiatric Association classified "homosexuality" as a mental disorder until 1973, making it easy for states to send LGBTQ+ people to institutions because of their sexuality. Having a "mental abnormality" is typically a requirement for admission to a facility, according to the Prison Policy Initiative, which researches the effects of mass incarceration. The group argues that having a definition that broad would imply that all people who are civilly committed are disabled, which made it hard to accurately determine the number of disabled people in the population studied. Patients of color are more likely than white patients to be committed to involuntary psychiatric hospitalization, according to a 2022 report from the American Psychiatric Association. Black patients and those who identified as multiracial were still more vulnerable even after factoring confounding variables. Go deeper: Map: Which U.S. states saw largest prison population increase facebook (opens in new window) twitter (opens in new window) linkedin (opens in new window) email (opens in new window)
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AntisemitismCanada In 2026, Tulsa And Panama Are Courting Canadian Jews As Antisemitism Redefines The Cost Of Staying As antisemitism reaches unprecedented levels across Canada, Jewish families and professionals are quietly reassessing their futures, and some are being actively courted elsewhere. Ron East By: Ron East December 31, 2025 SHARE A growing number of Canadian Jews are exploring relocation options A growing number of Canadian Jews are exploring relocation options as antisemitism intensifies and confidence in public protection erodes. (Image: Illustration.) TORONTO — For generations, Canada sold itself as a country where Jews could thrive without constantly looking over their shoulders. That assumption no longer holds for a growing number of Canadian Jews, particularly in the aftermath of October 7 and the months that followed. What has changed is not only the number of antisemitic incidents. It is the atmosphere. Public hostility has been normalized. Jewish schools, synagogues, and community centres operate under permanent security protocols. Anti-Jewish intimidation is increasingly framed as political expression. Enforcement is inconsistent. Accountability is rare. When Jewish life requires constant risk assessment, mobility stops being a luxury. It becomes a rational act of self-preservation. That reality helps explain why, in 2026, two very different destinations, Tulsa, Oklahoma, and Panama, are appearing with growing frequency in serious conversations among Canadian Jews who have the means and flexibility to move. This is not a panic migration. It is a strategic recalculation. Canada’s new warning lights Jewish Canadians represent a small fraction of the population, yet account for a vastly disproportionate share of reported hate crimes. This is not a perception problem. It is a documented pattern. More troubling than the statistics themselves is the message many Jews hear in response: concern, sympathy, and context, but little deterrence. Protests that spill into harassment are tolerated. Jewish institutions are targeted repeatedly. Antisemitism disguised as antizionism is parsed endlessly rather than confronted directly. The result is a slow erosion of confidence in the state’s willingness or ability to enforce equal protection. When a community moves from assuming it belongs to hoping nothing happens today, the social contract has already been fractured. It is within this context that Tulsa and Panama are not merely attracting attention but actively courting. Lech Le’Tulsa and intentional Jewish welcome Tulsa is not presenting itself as a refuge city. It is presenting itself as a place that wants Jewish life to grow. In 2026, that effort has taken concrete form through Lech Le’Tulsa, a Jewish-focused relocation initiative designed to attract Jewish families, professionals, and entrepreneurs to the Tulsa area. The program combines relocation assistance with intentional community building and access to Jewish infrastructure. The name is deliberate. Lech Lecha, the biblical call to go forth and build a future, is not branding by accident. It speaks directly to a Jewish historical instinct that understands movement not as retreat, but as agency. Lech Le’Tulsa offers what many Canadian Jews increasingly feel is missing at home: A clear signal that Jewish presence is welcomed, not merely accommodated Immediate access to synagogues, schools, and Jewish communal life A civic environment where Jewish identity is not treated as a liability The financial incentives matter, but the social architecture matters more. Tulsa is offering a landing ramp. It is saying, we are prepared for you to arrive. That clarity stands in stark contrast to the ambiguity Canadian Jews experience when their safety concerns are acknowledged but endlessly deferred. Panama and the appeal of optionality Panama represents a different but equally rational response to insecurity. For Canadian Jews with international mobility, Panama offers residency pathways tied to investment, business activity, or long-term economic contribution. It also offers something increasingly valuable: optionality. Panama has an established Jewish community, a comparatively lower cost of living, and an immigration framework that openly courts skilled and capital-carrying residents. For some, it is a permanent relocation. For others, it is a second base, a contingency plan, or a future passport pathway. What matters is not the destination itself, but the logic behind the choice. When Jews seek second options, they are not rejecting diaspora life. They are applying historical lessons. Jewish continuity has always depended on redundancy, resilience, and the ability to move before crisis becomes catastrophe. The Zionist lens Canadians prefer to ignore Zionism does not deny the legitimacy of diaspora life. It insists that Jews must never be dependent on the goodwill of others for safety or equality. That lesson was written in blood long before the modern State of Israel existed. Israel institutionalized it at a national level. Individual Jews apply it on a personal level. When Canadian Jews explore Tulsa or Panama, they are not abandoning Canada in anger. They are responding rationally to warning signs. They are building leverage. They are ensuring their children have options. This is what Zionist consciousness looks like outside Israel. It is quiet, pragmatic, and unsentimental. An indictment Canada should take seriously Tulsa and Panama are not superior societies. They are intentional ones. Tulsa is saying, we want contributors, and we are prepared to integrate them. Panama is saying, we want residents and investment, and we have clear legal pathways. Canada, too often, is saying something else entirely: we are sorry you feel unsafe, but the politics are complicated. A serious country does not treat antisemitism as a public relations challenge. It treats it as a threat to civic order. That requires enforcement, deterrence, and moral clarity, including the willingness to name antisemitism even when it hides behind fashionable political language. Until that happens, Canada should not be surprised when Jews quietly explore exit ramps. The bottom line In 2026, the fact that Tulsa and Panama can plausibly court Canadian Jews is not an oddity. It is a warning. When antisemitism reaches levels that fundamentally alter how Jews calculate their futures, movement becomes strategy. History teaches Jews to act before apologies arrive too late. Canada still has time to reverse this trajectory. But time matters. And Jews, having learned this lesson repeatedly, are no longer inclined to wait.
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