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  • “A Slippery Slope”: NYPD Is Relocating Reporters From Police HQ to a Trailer

    “A Slippery Slope”: NYPD Is Relocating Reporters From Police HQ to a Trailer

    The New York Police Department is yet again trying to shuffle the reporters who cover them—this time to a trailer outside their headquarters. For years, reporters have worked inside police headquarters at 1 Police Plaza, in a section of the building referred to as “the Shack.” There, you’ll find a warren of individual offices occupied by several news organizations—the New York Post, Newsday, The New York Times, CBS, Gothamist/WNYC, and The New York Daily News—and, on a crowded day, about a half dozen reporters dispersed among them. Rumors that Deputy Commissioner of Public Information Tarik Sheppard—the NYPD’s chief spokesperson—wanted to relocate reporters, purportedly to make more space for NYPD units, have been circulating for months. But on Monday, the idea seemed to become a reality, when two reporters who happened to be at HQ that day got an informal tour of their new digs. They were told they’d be moving the following Monday.

    Reporters’ objections to the move are not a matter of comfort. The Shack itself is “pretty disgusting,” as one police reporter noted. “It’s not the Ritz.” But having a desk inside police headquarters has offered crucial access to key players that some fear will be cut off in the move outside. “The concern is: Is this a good faith attempt to make more space for whoever they need to make more space for? Or is this a slippery slope, where we’re going to be eventually pushed out altogether from this area?” said a second police reporter. Sheppard, I’m told, has previously mentioned to reporters that he doesn’t get a fair shake from the tabloids. The move to the trailer comes “against a backdrop of complaints about the coverage of crime,” one veteran crime reporter said, which has “raised everybody’s antenna.” A third police reporter added: “Everybody feels it’s somewhat troublesome, like this is a punitive thing for negative coverage—particularly tabloid coverage.”

    The rollout of the move has been a major source of frustration among police reporters, who say that DCPI has not provided an official briefing to the group. Reporters who weren’t in on Monday didn’t realize a tour was even taking place. “There’s been no direct communication with all of us at the same time about what’s happening,” said the first police reporter. The line of reasoning for the move, they added, “has been all over the place.” Whether the move actually happens, or starts to happen, on Monday is somewhat unclear, as a third police reporter told me that DCPI has pulled back on Monday due to logistical matters.

    In a statement, a DCPI spokesperson said the move will begin “early next week” and disputed the idea that reporters are in the dark about the transition. “Sheppard previously met and spoke with representatives from each media outlet that occupies the existing press area inside Police Headquarters and explained that the move is simply to accommodate additional outlets that have asked to cover the NYPD in the same manner,” the spokesperson said, adding that the new location is “much larger, contains private conference rooms and bathrooms,” and is “located literally feet from the building, still very much inside the secure perimeter of One Police Plaza.” (One of the reporters I spoke to admitted the trailer was “way better” than they expected. It resembles a “semi-permanent module attached to HQ. We’d still be able to go in and out, our badges would work from what I’m told,” they said, adding, “but again, we still don’t have anything official from DCPI.”)

    The DCPI spokesperson also disputed the idea that the move is in any way a response to negative coverage. “Change is sometimes difficult for people, we understand. But this is hardly punitive by any stretch of the imagination. This is a planned move—in the works since the start of the current administration—toward greater NYPD transparency, to allow more access to more reporters from more media outlets that desire to cover the police department on an increasing basis.”

    It’s not the first time that the future of the Shack, which has been at 1 Police Plaza since the building was erected in the 1970s, has hung in the balance. Other commissioners have tried to evict reporters, such as in 2009, under Police Commissioner Raymond Kelly. The removal of the press offices seemed so assured that The Times wrote an entire obituary for the hub, only for department officials to backtrack on the eviction. A few months later, reporters were relocated down the hall to what is the current Shack. “Over the years, as papers and the news media sort of contracted, people in the Shack diminished,” said the veteran crime reporter. “Outlets that had four or five reporters were down to two or one; some were no longer there.”

    Lawyers representing the various media organizations with offices in police HQ have been communicating with each other in light of the impending move, according to several reporters. “What can they really do? It’s the NYPD’s property,” the second police reporter noted. The media lawyers’ role in this is more to “show resistance,” said the third police reporter, “so that the next move is not out on the street.”

    “Reporters should be in a newsroom collaborating with their fellow reporters, or they should be in a statehouse, in city hall, in police departments,” said the first police reporter. “Meeting and greeting and talking to people and getting the buzz. Isolating people like this is just another way of siloing the public—and that’s who we are, we’re representatives of the public. I think that they forget that.”

    Charlotte Klein

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  • The Humiliation of Donald Trump

    The Humiliation of Donald Trump

    He shuffled quietly into the courtroom and took his seat at the defense table. He looked strangely small sitting there flanked by lawyers—his shoulders slumped, his hands in his lap, his 6-foot-3-inch frame seeming to retreat into itself. When he spoke—“Not guilty”—it came out hoarse, almost a whisper. Pundits and reporters had spent weeks trying to imagine what this moment would look like. How would a former president—especially one who prided himself on showmanship—behave while under arrest? Would he act smug? Defiant? Righteously indignant?

    No one predicted that he would look quite so humiliated.

    Of course, becoming the first ex-president in American history to be charged with a crime is not exactly a coveted résumé line. But Donald Trump’s indictment yesterday marked a low point in another way too: For a man who’s long harbored a distinctive form of class anxiety rooted in his native New York, Trump’s arraignment in Manhattan represented the ultimate comeuppance.

    The island of Manhattan plays an important role in the Donald Trump creation myth. In speeches and interviews over the years, Trump has repeatedly recalled peering across the East River as a young man, yearning to expand the family real-estate business and compete with the city’s biggest developers. For a kid born in Queens—even one who grew up in a rich family—Manhattan seemed like the center of the universe.

    “I started off in a small office with my father in Brooklyn and Queens,” Trump said in the 2015 speech launching his campaign. “And my father said … ‘Donald, don’t go into Manhattan. That’s the big leagues. We don’t know anything about that. Don’t do it.’ I said, ‘I gotta go into Manhattan. I gotta build those big buildings. I gotta do it, Dad. I’ve gotta do it.’”

    In the version of the story Trump likes to tell, he went on to cross the river, conquer the island, and cement his victory by erecting an eponymous skyscraper in the middle of town. His childhood dream came true.

    But Trump was never really accepted by Manhattan’s old-money aristocracy. To the city’s elites, he was just another nouveau riche wannabe with bad manners and a distasteful penchant for self-promotion. They recognized the type—the outer-borough kid who’d made good—and they made sure he knew he wasn’t one of them. With each guest list that omitted his name, with each VIP invitation that didn’t come, Trump’s resentment burned hotter—and his desire for revenge deepened.

    Today, the old hierarchies that defined the New York of Trump’s youth are largely gone, replaced by new ones. (Brooklyn, the middle-class backwater where Trump’s father kept his office, is now home to enough pretentious white people that even the snootiest Manhattanites have to acknowledge the borough.) Trump, meanwhile, isn’t even a New Yorker anymore, having changed his voter registration to Florida in 2019 and retreated to the more hospitable confines of Mar-a-Lago after leaving the White House.

    But Trump never forgot the island that rejected him. And this week, he was forced to return to it—not in triumph, but in disgrace. Hundreds of journalists descended on Lower Manhattan to chronicle each indignity: the courthouse door gently shutting on him because nobody bothered to hold it open, the judge sternly instructing him to rein in his social-media rhetoric about the case. At one point, shortly after Trump entered the courtroom, someone in the overflow room, where reporters and others were watching a closed-circuit feed, began to whistle “Hail to the Chief,” drawing stifled laughter.

    In the past, Trump has succeeded in using his humiliations to his benefit. It’s a big part of why he excels at playing a populist on the campaign trail. When Trump railed against the corrupt ruling class in 2016, he wasn’t just channeling the anger of his supporters; he was expressing something he felt viscerally. Yes, his personal grievances with the “elites”—the ego-wounding snubs—might have been petty, but the anger was real. And for many of his followers, that was enough.

    Now he’s trying to pull off that trick again. In the weeks leading up to his indictment, Trump has sought to cast Manhattan District Attorney Alvin Bragg’s investigation as an act of political persecution—aimed not just at him, but at the entire MAGA movement. “WE MUST SAVE AMERICA!” he shout-posted on Truth Social last month. “PROTEST, PROTEST, PROTEST!”

    A modest contingent of pro-Trump demonstrators gathered in a park across the street from the courthouse yesterday, separated by police barricade from a larger group of counterprotesters. But the relatively muted MAGA presence, compared with the crowds of onlookers relishing the moment, only underscored how alienated the former president has become from the city with which he was once synonymous. The scene was heavier on performance artists and grifters than outraged true believers. A woman in a QAnon T-shirt strutted and gyrated for reporters as she rambled about Satan and the financial system, periodically punctuating her comments with “Bada bing!” A Trump supporter burned sage to ward off evil spirits, prompting one bystander to ask, “Is someone cooking soup?” The Naked Cowboy made an appearance.

    A handful of Trump’s New York–based supporters tried to convince me that this was still his town. Dion Cini—a MAGA-merch salesman who drew attention for his giant TRUMP OR DEATH flag and his liberal deployment of flagpole-based innuendos—told me he lived in Brooklyn. “Trump country!” he declared.

    I asked Cini if he really believed that New York could still be considered Trump country. Cini responded by launching into an enthusiastic (and exaggerated) recitation of how much of the city had been built by the Trumps. “Sheepshead Bay was built by Trump. All 50,000 homes,” Cini said, claiming that he lives in a Trump-built house there himself. “How many towers were built by Trump? The Javits Center! I mean, you name it—the Wollman Rink, the carousel in Central Park. And they call him a Nazi. I mean, did Hitler ever build a carousel?”

    After Cini wandered away, another Trump supporter named Scott Schultz approached me. Schultz said he also lives in Brooklyn’s Sheepshead Bay neighborhood, but he disagreed that it was “Trump country.” He can’t even put a Trump sign outside his house, because he knows it will be immediately defaced, Schultz said. He fantasized about a day when New Yorkers could celebrate Trump simply as a product of their city.

    “Most other [places], when someone becomes president, they have pride in that,” Schultz told me. “There was no pride at all … They want to wipe him clean. They rejected him.”

    Trump didn’t linger in the city after his arraignment. There was no impromptu press conference on the courthouse steps or chest-thumping speech to his supporters outside. Instead, his motorcade whisked him away to LaGuardia Airport for a flight back to Florida. He’d been in New York barely 24 hours. For now, at least, he seems intent on waging his battle with the Manhattan haters from a distance. Writing on Truth Social yesterday, Trump proposed moving his trial to Staten Island.

    McKay Coppins

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  • The Trump Arraignment Media Circus Is Underway

    The Trump Arraignment Media Circus Is Underway

    On a brisk but sunny Monday morning, Lower Manhattan was swarmed with satellite trucks and news crews. In front of the New York State Supreme Court, two TV reporters were doing news hits, with one noting “a very tight security apparatus” and “huge media contingent” anticipating Donald Trump’s arraignment on Tuesday. But the real media circus was situated some 300 feet away, where, across from Manhattan DA Alvin Bragg’s office, a mass of white tarps lined the street. The names of various outlets—AP, ABC, NY1, Bloomberg, Fox Business, USA Today, Getty—were scrawled on pieces of duct tape adhered to the concrete in front of their respective canopies. I overheard one cameraman explaining to an evidently confused tourist what they were all doing there as he sipped his coffee, and spotted about a dozen cameras inside Collect Pond Park, where a reporter was standing on a bench doing a TV hit. On the other side of the square was a line of parked satellite trucks. “They said 2:15 tomorrow,” I heard an NYPD officer tell his colleague outside 80 Centre Street. “We’re gonna be removing a lot of vehicles too,” she replied. 

    The city is bracing for the historic arraignment of the former president, whom a Manhattan grand jury voted to indict last week for his role in the 2016 hush-money payout to porn star Stephanie Clifford (aka Stormy Daniels). TV networks were glued to Trump’s motorcade ride to a Palm Beach airport Monday, en route to New York, and Tuesday’s courtroom appearance is sure to dominate cable news. For the reporters who cover the criminal courts, and are accustomed to high-profile proceedings—such as Harvey Weinstein’s 2020 rape trial or the 2011 sexual assault case against former International Monetary Fund chief Dominique Strauss-Kahn, which was later dismissed—the circus surrounding Trump is reaching a whole other level. “I think this is going to dwarf those cases,” said Laura Italiano, who worked at all three New York City tabloids before landing at Insider, where she’s been focusing on Trump’s legal exposure in New York state court. “I’ve been at this for 30 years, and it’s the biggest case in my career.”

    The media frenzy had been building for weeks but the indictment came somewhat out of left field, because, as reporters were told a day earlier, the grand jury was set to break for a previously scheduled hiatus, which would push any indictment of Trump until at least the end of April. “Everything was quiet. Some reporters were planning vacations,” said Patricia Hurtado, who’s been covering courts for Bloomberg for 18 years. “As a veteran court reporter—and I’ve covered federal and state courts for decades—this has been the strangest thing, because it’s been a whiplash,” she told me of the inquiry. “It’s been maddening.” Right before the indictment news broke, Italiano told me she’d just filed a story with a headline along the lines of “This Trump Indictment Long Break Is Not a Sure Thing.” 

    Molly Crane-Newman, who covers the Manhattan federal and state courts for the New York Daily News, was at her desk, located inside the courthouse, when she heard Trump had been indicted. “I shrieked,” she recalled. “I cover all manner of cases in the courts—the high-profile ones, but also the hyper-local ones,” she said, noting that reporting on indictments being filed is “routine” for her. “The process is going to be the same as it would be for any defendant, but obviously most of the defendants aren’t accompanied by Secret Service when they surrender.” 

    When I caught up with the three reporters after the indictment news broke, they were all focused on making sure they’d be able to do their jobs with the rest of the press corps parachuting in. There are a limited number of seats in the courtroom, and Italiano said Insider’s lawyers were “ready preemptively, in case there’s any kind of objectionable limitation on access,” like a pool situation where there’s one camera and one print reporter—“the kind of nightmare that keeps me awake,” as she put it. Crane-Newman pointed to past high-profile trials like Weinstein’s, or El Chapo’s in federal court in Brooklyn. “In those instances, reporters who don’t have in-house credentials have been required to start lining up outside the courthouse the night before,” she said, noting that she was among them for El Chapo, arriving at 11 p.m. the night before. Even that wasn’t enough, she noted: “I was the first reporter in overflow.” 

    For Weinstein’s trial, Hurtado said she got up at 4:30 a.m.—by which time the line was already around the block—to make sure she was there in time. In preparation for Tuesday, Hurtado joked about asking a lawyer she knows, who lives in an apartment building next door to the courthouse, whether she could crash on their floor in a sleeping bag. “It’s a big slog,” she said. Press access to documents may also be a challenge, as it has been with previous high-profile state court cases, said Hurtado, because while the federal court system is electronic, the state court still operates largely on paper. During Weinstein’s trial, reporters were taking photos of the filing with their phones, Hurtado said. “The courthouse system is kind of trapped in 1923,” she said. 

    The chaos might not be limited to the press swarm, as a threat of potential unrest has officers on high alert. Last month, when Trump predicted he would be “arrested on Tuesday,” the former president called on supporters to “protest” and “take our nation back.” At least one of his sycophants in Congress has heeded the call, as Representative Marjorie Taylor Greene tweeted that she’s coming to New York on Tuesday to “protest this unprecedented abuse of our justice system and election interference,” and will be headlining a rally planned by the New York Young Republican Club at a nearby park. 

    Charlotte Klein

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  • Idaho Murders: As a Small Town Grapples With Sinister Rumors, Media’s True-Crime Obsession Grows

    Idaho Murders: As a Small Town Grapples With Sinister Rumors, Media’s True-Crime Obsession Grows

    When I asked how he’d shoot it, he clarified, “If there wasn’t a murder, you mean?”

    “Yeah.”

    Entin waved for me to follow him over to it. He anchored the pretend live shot with serious enthusiasm: “The trash is so high—let me stand next to the trash. Let me show you.” 

    He positioned his body next to the dumpster for scale. “If I stand here, it’s literally above my head. I’m five feet eight, and the trash is above my head.” 

    Dramatically, he concluded, “And if it wasn’t this cold, imagine what this would smell like.” 

    Even when the news is garbage, Entin is a star.

    On December 29, a source alerted Entin that the Moscow PD would be holding an important press conference the next day. Entin felt like something big was about to “erupt.” The next morning, at 8:02 a.m., he received a Twitter DM from someone in Pennsylvania law enforcement, saying that a “Bryan Kohberger” was in custody in connection with the case. After some back and forth, Entin was able to confirm it. 

    At 8:26 a.m., Entin tweeted: “An arrest has been made in the Moscow, Idaho quadruple homicide I have learned.” Sixteen minutes later: “Arrest happened early this morning in Pennsylvania.” At 9:06 a.m.: “Arrest paperwork filed in Monroe County, Pennsylvania shows 28 year old Bryan Christopher Kohberger is being held for extradition in a homicide investigation in Moscow, Idaho. On my way to Pennsylvania now.” At 9:09 a.m., he tweeted Kohberger’s mug shot. By 11 a.m. he was on a plane. When Entin landed, the tip had made national news.

    Later, stationed outside the Kohbergers’ gated community, Entin received another Twitter message from a woman claiming to be one of their neighbors. She offered to drive him through the gates. They met at a gas station, where Entin tucked aside his fear of being kidnapped, because she seemed like a “nice lady.” Entin got in the car. She dropped him outside the Kohberger house, which had been raided less than 24 hours before. Entin went live on Twitter. He knocked on the door, its pane busted out by police in the raid. Behind it came a muffled voice, demanding to know who Entin was. Entin introduced himself as a journalist. The voice told him to go away. He did.

    Over the next few days, Entin barely slept, fueled by an adrenaline rush as he chased down rumors and reported on the ones that were true. Later he received a text message from Kaylee Goncalves’s family, thanking him for his news coverage. Maybe it was exhaustion, but the text brought tears to Entin’s eyes. 

    “It just feels so good to know they think I’ve done a good job and been respectful. It’s truly so fucking incredible and has me feeling really raw.”

    Since Kohberger’s arrest, so-called “suspects,” like Jack Showalter, Jack DuCoeur (Goncalves’s ex-boyfriend), and Chapin’s fraternity brothers, have been exonerated by reality—though who knows what kind of psychological or professional toll this kind of experience exacts. One of the surviving roommates, Dylan Mortensen, however, continues to withstand a huge amount of abuse. Mortensen and the other surviving roommate, Bethany Funke—both named as victims in prosecutorial filings—were pilloried on social media, a friend of theirs told me, alleging that one self-appointed “detective” posted pictures of Mortensen and Funke every day, analyzing their “evil” expressions and accusing them of the crime. 

    Neuroscientists have found that when we interact with social media, it’s the anticipation of answers, not their existence, that stirs in us a need to keep clicking, scrolling, and posting—perhaps that’s why Kohberger’s arrest brings less closure to sleuths than one might anticipate.

    In our internet-addicted brains, it seems productive to skip past endings and repost whatever fresh allegations we’ve just read, misguided by the myth that social media is a tool for social justice. In reality, studies show that screens lower our empathy, increasing the tendency toward cruelty, which can camouflage online as heroism.

    In Justice on Demand: True Crime in the Digital Streaming Era, Dr. Tanya Horeck writes, “The notion that audiences can participate in true crime has, of course, always been a feature of the genre” because it offers a metaphorical seat in the jury box. What is different about today’s true crime audience, Horeck says, is their expectation that the genre literally be interactive—that “justice” is something that can be accessed through binge-watching.

    There is something deeply human about fascination with crime. The central enigma of murder is death, a painful reality that comes for us all, and one that we instinctively fight throughout our lives, differentiating ourselves from victims like Mortensen and her housemates by judging their choices and hunting their killers, as if that protects us from random acts of violence.

    But whatever we might learn at Bryan Kohberger’s trial, there can never be a tolerable explanation for what happened to Maddie Mogen, Kaylee Goncalves, Xana Kernodle, and Ethan Chapin. We want to believe in social media’s immense power to reverse or at least rectify injustices. The alternative is that we’ve bought into a massive conspiracy, surfing and shaming and buying, fooled by the idea that our addiction to screens is productive, virtuous. Never mind the destruction we leave in our wake.


    The Idaho Murders: How 4 College Kids Lived and Loved

    The brutal murders of four Idaho college students shocked millions. Through social media posts, court records, and other primary sources, author Kathleen Hale forensically reconstructs their lives before the crime, and the night they were killed.

    Kathleen Hale

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