The president's silence after an attack in Kansas speaks volumes about his priorities.

Fans gathered at Austin's Bar & Grill in Olathe, Kansas, to kick back and watch the Jayhawks secure their 13th consecutive Big 12 basketball title. But their good mood was interrupted by gunfire.

Adam Purinton, 51, allegedly opened fire in the bar Wednesday night, killing Srinivas Kuchibhotla, a 32-year-old engineer. Kuchibhotla's friend, Alok Madasani, 32, and Ian Grillot, 24, were severely injured in the attack.

Left to right: Srinivas Kuchibhotla, Alok Madasani, and Ian Grillot. Photos via Facebook.


That night, according to witnesses, Purinton told Kuchibhotla and Madasani "Get out of my country" before being asked to leave the bar. He left, only to return with a gun. After shots were fired, Grillot intervened. Purinton was arrested in Clinton, Missouri (about 75 miles southeast of Olathe), after he allegedly told a bartender he needed a place to hide out because he'd "just killed two Middle Eastern men."

Kuchibhotla and Madasani are Indian — not that it would be any better if they weren't.

Photo by Andres Gutierrez/41 Action News, used with permission.

Here's what President Trump said regarding Wednesday's act of terror in Kansas.

That's right. He hasn't said a word.

He hasn't tweeted. He hasn't released a statement. His press secretary hasn't raised the issue in briefings. The silence is deafening.

This attack comes less than a month after the Trump administration announced plans to focus efforts of the Countering Violent Extremism program (CVE) solely on Islamic extremism.

Currently, the Department of Homeland Security uses the CVE to administer grants to schools and nonprofits that counter potential extremist violence. Narrowing the group's focus is seen as a win for white supremacists, as it could limit funding for groups that aim to prevent terror attacks led by right-wing extremists.

Ku Klux Klan members and counter-protesters argue at a Klan demonstration at the Columbia, South Carolina, state house. Photo by John Moore/Getty Images.

That's exactly what this attack in Kansas was: terrorism.

The shooter allegedly came to the bar that night to harm, kill, and instill fear in pursuit of his political aim. No one is asking who radicalized him or calling for a ban on middle-aged suburban white men until we "find out what's going on." He didn't need explosives, detailed plans, or the financial backing of a faraway clandestine cell. He had the tacit approval of an entire administration. This one-man army "took his country back." And the president said nothing.

Jaganmohan Reddy shows a picture of his son Alok Madasani in Hyderabad, India, after Alok was injured in the shooting. Photo by Noah Seelam/AFP/Getty Images.

I don't expect the president to respond to everything, but I do expect him to respond and condemn acts of terror and hate — especially those happening right here at home.

On an average day in the U.S., 93 people are killed with guns. Targeted attacks against African-Americans, Muslims, and Latinos have gone largely unchecked by Trump's team since the election. In 2017 alone, Jewish Community Centers across the United States have received close to 70 bomb threats, causing chaos, fear, and confusion.

Heather Lindsay and her partner Lexene Charles at their Connecticut home that was vandalized with a racial slur. Lindsay said their home has been vandalized multiple times. Photo by Timothy A. Clary/AFP/Getty Images.

After JCC bomb threats on Feb. 20, Trump broke his silence and spoke out against the tele-terrorism, saying, "The anti-Semitic threats targeting our Jewish community and community centers are horrible and are painful and a very sad reminder of the work that still must be done to root out hate and prejudice and evil."

Photo by Olivier Douliery - Pool/Getty Images.

He's quick to remind the press of his Jewish grandchildren, daughter, and son-in-law. He boasts about being the "least anti-Semitic" person we've ever met. But the self-described "law and order" candidate has yet to present actual plans to crack down on anti-Semitism or violent white nationalism.

No plans to remove Steve Bannon, whose former website is a haven for anti-Semitic and anti-Muslim sentiments. No plans to root out right-wing extremists online, where many radicalize and push their violent agendas. No plans to help local law enforcement support and assist the synagogues, mosques, and community centers under attack or to help bring the perpetrators to justice. Again, the silence is deafening.

President Trump at Ben Carson's exhibit at the National Museum of African-American History and Culture. Photo by Saul Loeb/AFP/Getty Images.

I don't want to think about what it will take to get Trump to actually do something about white supremacy.

Instead, all of us can do our part. We can stand up for victims like Kuchibhotla, support individuals and groups targeted by right-wing extremism, and take to the streets and the ballot box so our representatives know that white supremacy has no place in our communities or government.

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Judy Vaughan has spent most of her life helping other women, first as the director of House of Ruth, a safe haven for homeless families in East Los Angeles, and later as the Project Coordinator for Women for Guatemala, a solidarity organization committed to raising awareness about human rights abuses.

But in 1996, she decided to take things a step further. A house became available in the mid-Wilshire area of Los Angeles and she was offered the opportunity to use it to help other women and children. So, in partnership with a group of 13 people who she knew from her years of activism, she decided to make it a transitional residence program for homeless women and their children. They called the program Alexandria House.

"I had learned from House of Ruth that families who are homeless are often isolated from the surrounding community," Judy says. "So we decided that as part of our mission, we would also be a neighborhood center and offer a number of resources and programs, including an after-school program and ESL classes."

She also decided that, unlike many other shelters in Los Angeles, she would accept mothers with their teenage boys.

"There are very few in Los Angeles [that do] due to what are considered liability issues," Judy explains. "Given the fact that there are (conservatively) 56,000 homeless people and only about 11,000 shelter beds on any one night, agencies can be selective on who they take."

Their Board of Directors had already determined that they should take families that would have difficulties finding a place. Some of these challenges include families with more than two children, immigrant families without legal documents, moms who are pregnant with other small children, families with a member who has a disability [and] families with service dogs.

"Being separated from your son or sons, especially in the early teen years, just adds to the stress that moms who are unhoused are already experiencing," Judy says.

"We were determined to offer women with teenage boys another choice."

Courtesy of Judy Vaughan

Alexandria House also doesn't kick boys out when they turn 18. For example, Judy says they currently have a mom with two daughters (21 and 2) and a son who just turned 18. The family had struggled to find a shelter that would take them all together, and once they found Alexandria House, they worried the boy would be kicked out on his 18th birthday. But, says Judy, "we were not going to ask him to leave because of his age."

Homelessness is a big issue in Los Angeles. "[It] is considered the homeless capital of the United States," Judy says. "The numbers have not changed significantly since 1984 when I was working at the House of Ruth." The COVID-19 pandemic has only compounded the problem. According to Los Angeles Homeless Services Authority (LAHSA), over 66,000 people in the greater Los Angeles area were experiencing homelessness in 2020, representing a rise of 12.7% compared with the year before.

Each woman who comes to Alexandria House has her own unique story, but some common reasons for ending up homeless include fleeing from a domestic violence or human trafficking situation, aging out of foster care and having no place to go, being priced out of an apartment, losing a job, or experiencing a family emergency with no 'cushion' to pay the rent.

"Homelessness is not a definition; it is a situation that a person finds themselves in, and in fact, it can happen to almost anyone. There are many practices and policies that make it almost impossible to break out of poverty and move out of homelessness."

And that's why Alexandria House exists: to help them move out of it. How long that takes depends on the woman, but according to Judy, families stay an average of 10 months. During that time, the women meet with support staff to identify needs and goals and put a plan of action in place.

A number of services are provided, including free childcare, programs and mentoring for school-age children, free mental health counseling, financial literacy classes and a savings program. They have also started Step Up Sisterhood LA, an entrepreneurial program to support women's dreams of starting their own businesses. "We serve as a support system for as long as a family would like," Judy says, even after they have moved on.

And so far, the program is a resounding success.

92 percent of the 200 families who stayed at Alexandria House have found financial stability and permanent housing — not becoming homeless again.

Since founding Alexandria House 25 years ago, Judy has never lost sight of her mission to join with others and create a vision of a more just society and community. That is why she is one of Tory Burch's Empowered Women this year — and the donation she receives as a nominee will go to Alexandria House and will help grow the new Start-up Sisterhood LA program.

"Alexandria House is such an important part of my life," says Judy. "It has been amazing to watch the children grow up and the moms recreate their lives for themselves and for their families. I have witnessed resiliency, courage, and heroic acts of generosity."

Simon & Garfunkel's song "Bridge Over Troubled Water" has been covered by more than 50 different musical artists, from Aretha Franklin to Elvis Presley to Willie Nelson. It's a timeless classic that taps into the universal struggle of feeling down and the comfort of having someone to lift us up. It's beloved for its soothing melody and cathartic lyrics, and after a year of pandemic challenges, it's perhaps more poignant now than ever.

A few years a go, American singer-songwriter Yebba Smith shared a solo a capella version of a part of "Bridge Over Troubled Water," in which she just casually sits and sings it on a bed. It's an impressive rendition on its own, highlighting Yebba's soulful, effortless voice.

But British singer Jacob Collier recently added his own layered harmony tracks to it, taking the performance to a whole other level.

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Images courtesy of John Scully, Walden University, Ingrid Scully
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Since March of 2020, over 29 million Americans have been diagnosed with COVID-19, according to the CDC. Over 540,000 have died in the United States as this unprecedented pandemic has swept the globe. And yet, by the end of 2020, it looked like science was winning: vaccines had been developed.

In celebration of the power of science we spoke to three people: an individual, a medical provider, and a vaccine scientist about how vaccines have impacted them throughout their lives. Here are their answers:

John Scully, 79, resident of Florida

Photo courtesy of John Scully

When John Scully was born, America was in the midst of an epidemic: tens of thousands of children in the United States were falling ill with paralytic poliomyelitis — otherwise known as polio, a disease that attacks the central nervous system and often leaves its victims partially or fully paralyzed.

"As kids, we were all afraid of getting polio," he says, "because if you got polio, you could end up in the dreaded iron lung and we were all terrified of those." Iron lungs were respirators that enclosed most of a person's body; people with severe cases often would end up in these respirators as they fought for their lives.

John remembers going to see matinee showings of cowboy movies on Saturdays and, before the movie, shorts would run. "Usually they showed the news," he says, "but I just remember seeing this one clip warning us about polio and it just showed all these kids in iron lungs." If kids survived the iron lung, they'd often come back to school on crutches, in leg braces, or in wheelchairs.

"We all tried to be really careful in the summer — or, as we called it back then, 'polio season,''" John says. This was because every year around Memorial Day, major outbreaks would begin to emerge and they'd spike sometime around August. People weren't really sure how the disease spread at the time, but many believed it traveled through the water. There was no cure — and every child was susceptible to getting sick with it.

"We couldn't swim in hot weather," he remembers, "and the municipal outdoor pool would close down in August."

Then, in 1954 clinical trials began for Dr. Jonas Salk's vaccine against polio and within a year, his vaccine was announced safe. "I got that vaccine at school," John says. Within two years, U.S. polio cases had dropped 85-95 percent — even before a second vaccine was developed by Dr. Albert Sabin in the 1960s. "I remember how much better things got after the vaccines came out. They changed everything," John says.

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