Alison Gill (27:05)
And I think that's what they're sort of waiting for. I think that the Trump administration is bringing them all back on admin leave instead of back into the office and back into work so that they don't have to give them, you know, like, laptops and. And badges and all that stuff to see if they're going to eventually win their lawsuit and be able to fire them. So I think the administrative leave is their temporary. You know, we'll pay you while we wait, basically. All right, everybody, it's time for some good trouble. What are you guys doing? All right, everybody, your mission, should you choose to accept it. We know Donald Trump and Elon Musk think this country belongs to them. They're taking everything they can, and they're taking everything they can get their hands on. Like, they are just scraping it all up for themselves and their rich pals, and they're daring the world to stop them. On Saturday, April 5, we are taking to the streets nationwide to fight back with a clear message. Hands off. This is the April 5th hands off rally. You've been seeing massive nationwide protest move on. Indivisible. Like all the big groups are in on it. For more information on a rally near you, there's a big one in D.C. obviously, but you can do this in. It's like part of the 50:51. One day, 50 states, 50 protests. And you can get all the information on your closest1@handsoff2025.com so that's a big one. So everybody will see you out there. We have another I want to share that Time magazine story with you and then we'll get to the good news. But we have to take a quick break, so stick around. We'll be right back. Hey everybody. Deleteme makes it easy, quick and safe to remove your personal data online at a time when surveillance and data breaches are common enough, everyone vulnerable. As someone with an active online presence, you could say privacy is really important to me. 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So if you've ever been a victim of these issues or you just want to take control of your online privacy, delete me is the solution. Your privacy is worth protecting. So is your families. And Delete Me makes it simple. So take control of your data and keep your private life private by signing up for Delete Me now at a special discount for listeners. Get 20% off your delete me plan when you go to JoinDeleteMe.com DailyBeans and use promo code dailybeans at checkout. Again, the only way to get 20% off your plan is to go to JoinDeleteMe.com DailyBeans and enter code DAILYBEANS at checkout JoinDeleteMe.com DailyBEANS code DAILYBEANS. You'll be glad you did. Hey everybody, welcome back. This weekend, Philip Holsinger, a photojournalist embedded in El Salvador, took us inside seacot for Time magazine. Seacot is the Salvadorian prison camp that our tax money is helping to pay for, where the Trump regime is illegally sending alleged gang members without due process under the Alien Enemies Act. And here is the piece in Time magazine and Content Warning. It gets pretty harrowing in this story, especially if you're going to click on the link in the show Notes to look at the pictures from Philip Polsing, our photojournalist on the night of Saturday, March 15, three planes touched down in El Salvador carrying 261 men deported from the United States. A few dozen were Salvadoran, but most of the men were Venezuelans, like the Trump administration had designated as gang members and deported with little or no due process. I was there to document their arrival. For more than a year, I've been embedded through El Salvador society, working on a book chronicling the country's transformation from the huts of remote island fishermen to the desk of the president, from elite homicide detective units to elementary school classrooms. I've interviewed government officials and everyday people, collecting stories that would shock Stephen King. I've stood in classrooms full of happy students, which not long ago were empty because children here once learned early that schools were places to be raped or recruited. I've interviewed killers in prison and sat with them face to face. And as I stood on the tarmac, an agent with the U.S. department of Homeland Security's ICE Special Response Team told me that some of the Venezuelans had weakly attempted to take over the plane upon landing. It wasn't unusual for detainees to try to make a last stand, the agent said, guarding the doorway to the plane at the top of the gangway stairs. They began to try to organize to overthrow the plane by screaming for everyone to stand up and fight. But not everyone was on board, the agent said, cautioning me to be careful because some of the Venezuelans would fight once they were offloaded. Even if not fighting, almost all the detainees came to the door of the plane with angry and defiant faces. It was their faces that grabbed me, because within a few hours those faces would completely transform. The Venezuelans emerging from their plane were not in prison clothes but in designer jeans and branded tracksuits. Their faces were the faces of guys who in no way expected what they first saw an ocean of soldiers and police, an entire army assembled to apprehend them. One of the alleged organizers of the attempted overthrow fought the US agents on the plane, cursing the Americans, the Salvadorans, President Bukele himself. El Salvador's minister of defense, Renee Marino, who had been standing on the tarmac at the bottom of the gangway, rushed aboard and dragged the guy to the gangway himself and flung him into the waiting hands of black masked guards. The transfer from the plane to the buses that would carry them to prison was rapid. Yet it might as well have been the crossing of an ancient continent. I felt the detainees fear as they marched through the gauntlet of black clad guards, guns raised like spears from some terrible tribe. I walked the line of buses waiting to depart, photographing faces. A guard noticed one of the detainees turn toward the window and wrenched his head back down into his chest. Around 2am the convoy of 22 buses, flanked by armored vehicles and police, moved out of the airport. Soldiers and Police lined the 25 mile route to the prison with thick patrols at every bridge and intersection. For the few Salvadorans, it was a familiar landscape. But for a Venezuelan plucked from America, it must have appeared dystopian. Police and soldiers for miles and miles in woodland darkness. The Terrorism Confinement center, a notorious maximum security prison known as secoted, sits in an old farm field at the foot of an ancient volcano, brightly lit against the night sky. I've spent considerable time there and I know the place intimately. As we entered the intake yard, the head of the prisons was giving orders to an assembly of hundreds of guards. Hundreds, he told them the Venezuelans had tried to overthrow the plane. So the guards must be extremely vigilant. He told them plainly. Show them they are not in control. The intake began with slaps. One young man sobbed when a guard pushed him to the floor. He said, I'm not a gang member. I'm gay. I'm a barber. I believed him, but maybe it's only because he didn't look like what I had expected. He wasn't a tattooed monster. The men were pulled from the buses so fast the guards couldn't keep pace. Chained at their ankles and wrists, they stumbled and fell, some guards falling to the ground with them. With each fall came a kick, a slap, a shovel. The guards grabbed necks and pushed bodies into the sides of buses as they forced the detainees forward. There was no blood, but the violence had rhythm, like the threat of fear. Inside the intake room, a sea of trustees descended on the men with electric shavers, stripping heads of hair with haste. The guy who claimed to be a barber began to whimper, folding his hands in prayer. As his hair fell, he was slapped. The man asked for his mother and then buried his face in his chained hands and cried as he was slapped again. After being shaved, the detainees were stripped naked. Most of them began to whimper. Their hard faces that I saw on the plane evaporated. It was like looking at men who passed through a time machine. In two hours, they aged 10 years. Their nice clothes were not gathered or cataloged, but simply thrust into black garbage bags and thrown out. With their hair, they entered their cold cells, 80 men per cell, with steel planks for bunks. No mats, no sheets, no pillow, no television, no books, no talking, no phone calls, no visitors. For these Venezuelans, it was not just a prison they had arrived at. It was exile to another world. A place so cold and far from home they may as well have been sent into space, nameless and forgotten. Holding my camera, it was as if I watched them become ghosts. Everybody, you can see these photos, the link in the show notes and read the piece at time. I've shared it on my Blue sky account. Everybody, stick around. We'll be right back with Liz Winstead from Feminist Buzz Kills. Hey, everybody. Welcome back. As promised, I'm so happy today to be joined by my good friend who I haven't seen in a very long time. I think the last time we saw each other was at maybe Grass or Netroots, maybe. I can't. I can't quite remember. But anyway. She hosts the Feminist Buzz Kills podcast on the MSW Media Network. She's co creator of the Daily show and founder of Abortion Access Front. Please welcome Liz Winstead. Liz, what's up, Al?