Mississippi Today
‘So medieval’: Man with mental illness jailed for 20 days without charges
In January, the head of Mississippi’s Department of Mental Health told lawmakers that people who aren’t charged with a crime are spending less time in jail than they used to: The average wait time for a state hospital bed was down to three days after a court hearing.
At that moment, a young man was on his 16th day locked in the DeSoto County Jail with no criminal charges. He was waiting for mental health treatment.
His mother, Sarah, was still trying to understand why he was there at all.
David, 29, was diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder about a decade ago. Since then, he has cycled through hospital stays and group homes. Sarah can rattle off the low points. There was the time her son was walking in the street and got hit by a car and broke his neck. And the time he called her from a Megabus in Texas, nearly at the border with Mexico.
But this was something new: a three-week detention that began after he called 911 seeking treatment and eventually wound up jailed at the request of his providers.
Her son’s treatment in DeSoto County – where a county website still uses the phrase “lunacy” hearings to refer to the proceedings where judges order people like David to receive psychiatric treatment – reminded Sarah of a different era.
“When they, you know, lock them in the dungeon or whatever and put chains on them and just let them live the rest of their lives there,” she said. “This is so medieval, what they’re doing.”
In the end, David was jailed for a total of three weeks before being transported to North Mississippi State Hospital at the end of January. Mississippi Today is not using his or his family’s real names to protect his privacy.
It is far from unusual in Mississippi and particularly in DeSoto County for people to be jailed solely because they are awaiting treatment through the state’s involuntary commitment process. No other state jails so many people for such lengths of time, solely on the basis of mental illness. Mississippi Today and ProPublica previously reported that hundreds of people are jailed without criminal charges every year while they await evaluations and treatment through the involuntary commitment process.
From 2019 through 2022, DeSoto County jailed people without criminal charges just under 500 times, more than any other county in the news organizations’ analysis.
As lawmakers debate changing Mississippi’s commitment laws to reduce jail detentions, David’s path through the state’s mental health system shows how it can funnel a sick person into jail, and how long it can take for them to get out once locked up.
A publicly funded facility established to treat people in crisis sent David to jail. Though the Department of Mental Health says commitment hearings should take place within 10 days, county officials instead kept him locked up for 14 days before he saw a judge, as winter weather shut down the county court system. The state hospital where the judge ordered him to receive treatment would not admit him for six more days – all of which he spent in jail.
The county is working on opening a crisis center to treat people suffering mental health crises – and keep them out of jail during the commitment process – and supervisors recently voted to hire an architect to draw up renovation plans for the county building that will house the center. The county is currently the largest in the state without one.
County administrator Vanessa Lynchard noted that reforming the commitment process is a priority for the Legislature this year, and that could hopefully bring some relief.
“Nobody likes mental commitments in the jail,” she said.
But officials involved in the process say jail is sometimes the only place they have to detain people during the commitment process, and that jailing people is safer than sending them home. And so every year, the county jails well over 100 people solely because they may be mentally ill – including people like David.
‘He really wants to live a normal life’
In early January, David walked away from his mother’s home in a tidy subdivision in DeSoto County. He knocked on a neighbor’s door and used the phone to call 911 for an ambulance to take him to the hospital.
When Sarah found out he was at Baptist Memorial Hospital-DeSoto, she decided to let him stay there and get treatment. That he had been able to get himself there was a sign of progress. When his mental illness became severe about 10 years ago, “he used to just let himself spin out of control,” Sarah said.
When David was a teenager, he developed phobias that his mother found strange. He stopped wanting to go to school, claiming his breath smelled bad. After he ran away from home, he was hospitalized at Lakeside, a psychiatric hospital in Memphis.
He graduated from high school and got a job working at a warehouse, riding his bicycle more than an hour each way to arrive by 5 or 6 o’clock in the morning.
Then, when he was about 19, “stuff went totally to the left with him,” his mother said. He would disappear from home for days at a time. If he wound up at a hospital, staff wouldn’t tell her he was there, citing patient privacy protections. At home, he would refuse to take medications.
A few years ago, Sarah spent $2,500 to go through the legal process to gain conservatorship over her son so that she would always be included in conversations about his treatment.
“When the dust settles and the smoke clears, he always comes back to me,” she said. “If you’ve got him and put him on the wrong medication and overmedicated him, then I’ve got to help him get back on track.”
David belongs to a tight-knit family: He has siblings, a doting grandfather, aunts and uncles. Sarah’s phone is full of pictures of her son. There’s a shot of him getting his face painted at a family party and another of him wearing a Mickey Mouse t-shirt at Disneyland. A video shows him chasing his sister’s kids around his mother’s backyard.
His family tries to help him manage his symptoms. When he lived with his older sister Beth recently, he would go into the backyard to pace and talk to himself.
“I’d go out there like every 15 minutes, like, ‘Hey, you’re too loud, you need to calm down,’ but I don’t interrupt,” she said. “That’s his way of calming himself down.”
David has told his sister that he doesn’t like depending on her and their mom, that he feels bad he doesn’t drive or hold a job – something that has been a goal for years.
“He’ll tell you that he really wants to live a normal life,” Beth said.
From the crisis unit to a jail cell
One day in January, after a few days at Baptist Memorial Hospital-DeSoto, David was transported to a crisis stabilization unit in Corinth, where he had agreed to get treatment. Operated by the community mental health center Region IV, which serves residents of DeSoto and four other counties, the facility is one of more than a dozen around the state designed to serve people closer to their homes, ideally keeping them out of the state hospitals – and out of jail.
For David, the crisis unit did the opposite.
Sarah sent over her conservatorship paperwork so she could be updated about his treatment. She expected to hear from her son not long after he arrived there, because he always calls her once he feels more like himself. When that didn’t happen, she called the crisis unit.
“He’s in the DeSoto County Jail,” staff told her.
Documents filed with the DeSoto County Chancery Court and reviewed by Mississippi Today show that after refusing medications twice, David had taken them and said he thought it was helping. There were no indications of violence or physical aggression. But not long after he arrived, staff requested a writ – a document allowing the sheriff’s department to take custody of a patient – because of his “agitation and inappropriate sexual conduct.”
Staff reported that he was experiencing “Psychosis including delusions, irritability. He is continually masterbating (sic).” They wrote that he had masturbated in front of other patients and a staff member.
It’s not clear from the documents exactly how long David was at the crisis unit before staff requested the writ, and Sarah said she was not contacted when he arrived there. It may have been as little as a day or two: The court order committing him says he arrived at Corinth “on or about 01/08/24.”
On Jan. 8, Catherine Davis, crisis coordinator at Region IV, which runs the crisis center, wrote: “At Corinth Crisis they are requesting he go to DeSoto County Jail.”
The next afternoon, deputies arrived to take David into custody and drive him 90 minutes back to DeSoto County. He was booked into the county jail with his charge listed as “Writ to take custody.”
Psychiatrists told Mississippi Today that people with David’s condition may exhibit sexually inappropriate behavior like public masturbation, stepping from hypersexuality and impulsivity that can be symptoms of mania.
“All they want to focus on is what he was doing wrong there,” Sarah said. “I understand that. But that’s because he needs psychiatric treatment. He’s mentally unstable. You’re a crisis center. Isn’t that what you do? But instead you ship him off to jail.”
Jason Ramey, executive director of Region IV, the community mental health center that runs the crisis unit, said he can’t discuss a specific client, citing HIPAA.
“At no point in time is it our goal to have somebody sitting in jail, but we also have to think about the wellbeing of the whole CSU, whether it’s the other clients there and things like that,” he said.
Ramey said that in 2023, the crisis unit staff initiated commitment proceedings on only three patients. The facility treated nearly 300 people in the most recent fiscal year.
“We want them to continue to receive treatment,” he said of patients awaiting transfer to a different facility. “If we’re not able to provide that, we want to get them to the state hospital as quickly as possible. It’s not like we file a writ just to have them go sit in jail.”
But in David’s case, that’s exactly what happened.
Dr. Paul Appelbaum, a professor of psychiatry at Columbia and former president of the American Psychiatric Association, reviewed the commitment paperwork and initial evaluation filed with the chancery court in David’s case. He said sending David to jail was wrong.
“The sexually inappropriate behavior is a function of his current acute psychosis, and so the proper response to it is to treat the psychosis, which doesn’t happen overnight,” he said.
Dr. Marvin Swartz, a professor of psychiatry at Duke University, said it may have been appropriate to transfer David to another facility, but that elsewhere in the United States, such a transfer would not involve waiting in jail.
Dr. Lauren Stossel, a forensic psychiatrist and former chief of mental health for New York City jails, said that mental health providers have a responsibility to transfer patients to a higher level of care if they can’t provide safe and effective treatment.
Mississippi’s practice of routinely jailing people without criminal charges while they await psychiatric treatment demands systemic change, she said. But in the meantime, crisis center staff shouldn’t avoid commitment at all costs.
“Clinicians need to consider all their patients and staff and make a decision about what they can manage in their facility,” she said. “The fact that jail is a possible alternative is appalling and needs to be factored in, but they also have to be careful about getting in over their heads trying to manage patients they have no way of treating safely or effectively.”
When reviewing the information crisis center staff provided to the chancery court to justify their decision to initiate commitment proceedings, however, Stossel didn’t see a clear explanation of what staff believed the patient needed that they weren’t equipped to provide.
“It’s not clear to me based on this information: what symptoms or behaviors is this patient exhibiting that you can’t manage? What interventions have you already tried? How long did you allow him to respond to treatment before determining a higher level of care was necessary? It’s crucial to require a clear justification to protect the patient from an unnecessarily restrictive outcome.”
Adam Moore, spokesman for the Department of Mental Health, which funds the crisis units, did not answer specific questions about what happened to David. He said in an email statement that a crisis unit may initiate commitment proceedings when their clinical staff feels that someone served there meets commitment criteria or is in need of a higher level of care.
‘I didn’t know I was gonna get sent to jail’
While her son was in jail, Sarah wondered what medications he was taking, concerned that any disruption could worsen his symptoms. She and her daughter, Beth, worried about what he might experience as a young Black man locked up – with no criminal charges – in a Mississippi county jail. They prayed for God to keep him safe.
Sarah called the jail every day to find out how David was doing. During one of those calls, on Jan. 22, a staffer at the jail told her David would have a hearing in court the next day.
It had been 14 days since he was jailed, and 15 since the affidavit requesting his commitment was filed. The Department of Mental Health publishes guidelines saying that the entire process should wrap up within 10 days, but it doesn’t track whether that actually happens.
Special master Adam Emerson, the attorney appointed by a chancellor to preside over commitment hearings, said the county normally holds commitment hearings every Thursday, and sometimes on Tuesdays as well to meet the statutory deadline. Most hearings take place within a week of the writ being served, he said.
He would not comment on David’s case because it is his policy not to discuss specific commitment proceedings, but said that the week of Jan. 15, the entire county court system was shut down due to winter weather, postponing all hearings to the following week.
Emerson said he serves as special master as a way to serve the community where he has lived for nearly his entire life. During a decade as a public defender in the county, he realized many of his clients had mental health or addiction issues that led to criminal charges.
“I continue to believe that early intervention in situations where mental health issues are involved will lead to better outcomes to the individuals and society at large,” he wrote in an email to Mississippi Today.
To make it to the hearing, Sarah had to take the day off of work. At the courthouse in Hernando, she sat in the hallway with three other families of people going through the commitment process.
Eventually, she was called into the courtroom and took a seat in the front row. Deputies escorted her son into the room. He was shackled, with his hands chained to his waist and another chain running down to his feet.
Sarah noticed that almost everyone else in the courtroom was white. She suspected that racism had played a role in her son’s treatment. He is 6-foot-7, and though she knows him as “a gentle giant” who acts like one of her grandchildren, she worries other people are scared of him.
“It’s three strikes against you right there,” she said. “You’re African-American– strike one. African-American male– strike two. Then you’re an African-American male with a mental health disease. You just struck out.”
Emerson said he could not speak to David’s treatment outside of his courtroom, but that race had not played a role in his decision.
“I can only tell you that everyone who comes before my court is treated equally and with dignity and respect,” he said. “A person’s race, ethnicity, gender, religion, sexual preference, etc. is never a factor in our decisions.”
Mississippi Today reviewed the recording of the hearing after filing a motion to unseal it, with a letter of support from Sarah.
At the beginning of the 10-minute hearing, Catherine Davis, the Region IV crisis coordinator who had filed the affidavit against David, explained why she believed commitment was necessary.
Davis said that David had been masturbating at the crisis center, and that he was “hostile,” without saying what that meant exactly.
“When he was redirected he was becoming hostile,” Davis said. “He was pacing, responding to internal stimuli. So they felt at that point he wasn’t safe with the staff and the other clients. So they asked us to do a court commitment.”
When it was his turn to speak, David offered a different account of how he reacted to instructions from staff.
“After they told me the first time, I stopped,” he said, forming his sentences slowly and softly. “I really didn’t know it was a problem. I didn’t know I was gonna get sent to jail. I was just trying to get to the hospital.”
He told the judge he didn’t need more treatment.
Emerson called on Sarah to speak as well. She described the frustration and stress of sending her conservatorship paperwork to the crisis center only to learn days later her son had been taken to jail with no one informing her.
“I have been left out of this the entire time, and I don’t understand why,” she said.
On the recommendation of Davis and two physicians, Emerson ordered David into treatment at a state hospital.
“I’m doing that for your own good, to try to get you stabilized and get you back out,” he said to David.
To Sarah, he added: “Certainly based on where he’s sent, if I were you I’d try to get those records down to them so maybe they can keep you in the loop, OK?”
Before she could talk to or hug her son, Sarah was ushered out of the courtroom. David went back to jail for six more days.
‘How does being incarcerated support one’s mental health?’
On Jan. 29, 20 days after he was first jailed, David was transported to North Mississippi State Hospital.
Moore, the Department of Mental Health spokesman, said that the wait time information the agency had shared with lawmakers was an average and that it does not include any time a person is jailed before their hearing.
“Any individual’s wait time may be more or less than the average wait time for all admissions from a given period of time,” he wrote.
By early April, David was still at the state hospital in Tupelo. When Sarah visited him, she was disturbed that he had little energy, which she attributes to his long list of medications prescribed by the hospital staff. He told her he’s ready to come home, and he talked about trying to get a job.
His mother filed a complaint with the Mississippi Department of Health and with the Attorney General’s Public Integrity Division, which is responsible for prosecuting cases involving the exploitation of vulnerable adults.
She also emailed Wendy Bailey, head of the Department of Mental Health.
“As I deal with DeSoto County, which happens to be one of the fastest growing counties in the state, I am appalled at their antiquated systems of mental health support,” she wrote.
“How does being incarcerated support one’s mental health? What immediate changes can be made to improve upon this system?”
Bailey connected Sarah with Falisha Stewart, director of the Office of Consumer Supports. Stewart said there had been a communication “breakdown” when the Corinth crisis stabilization unit failed to contact Sarah about her son’s transfer to jail. She said the agency had enacted a plan to prevent communication lapses from happening in the future.
“It is unfortunate individuals who deal with mental health issues have to wait in jails for an available bed while being committed,” Stewart wrote. “These laws can only change through the process of speaking with your state representatives.”
This article first appeared on Mississippi Today and is republished here under a Creative Commons license.
The Mississippi Supreme Court has set the execution of a man who kidnapped and murdered a 20-year-old community college student in north Mississippi 30 years ago.
Charles Ray Crawford, 59, is set to be executed Oct. 15 at the Mississippi State Penitentiary at Parchman, after multiple requests by the attorney general’s office.
Eight justices joined the majority opinion to set the execution, concluding that Crawford has exhausted all state and federal legal remedies. Mississippi Supreme Court Justice T. Kenneth Griffis Jr. wrote the Friday opinion. Justice David Sullivan did not participate.
However, Kristy Noble with the Mississippi Office of Capital Post-Conviction Counsel released a statement saying it will file another appeal with the U.S. Supreme Court.
“”Mr. Crawford’s inexperienced trial counsel conceded his guilt to the jury — against Mr.
Crawford’s timely and repeated objections,” Noble said in the statement. “Mr. Crawford told his counsel to pursue a not guilty verdict. Counsel did just the opposite, which is precisely what the U.S. Supreme Court says counsel cannot do,” Noble said in the statement.
“A trial like Mr. Crawford’s – one where counsel concedes guilt over his client’s express wishes – is essentially no trial at all.”
Last fall, Crawford’s attorneys asked the court not to set an execution date because he hadn’t exhausted appeal efforts in federal court to challenge a rape conviction that is not tied to his death sentence. In June, the U.S. Supreme Court declined to take up Crawford’s case.
A similar delay occurred a decade ago, when the AG’s office asked the court to reset Crawford’s execution date, but that was denied because efforts to appeal his unrelated rape conviction were still pending.
After each unsuccessful filing, the attorney general’s office asked the Mississippi Supreme Court to set Crawford’s execution date.
On Friday, the court also denied Crawford’s third petition for post-conviction relief and a request for oral argument. It accepted the state’s motion to dismiss the petition. Seven justices concurred and Justice Leslie King concurred in result only. Again, Justice Sullivan did not participate.
Crawford was convicted and sentenced to death in Lafayette County for the 1993 rape and murder of North Mississippi Community College student Kristy Ray.
Days before he was set to go to trial on separate aggravated assault and rape charges, he kidnapped Ray from her parents’ Tippah County home, leaving ransom notes. Crawford took Ray to an abandoned barn where he stabbed her, and his DNA was found on her, indicating he sexually assaulted her, according to court records.
Crawford told police he had blackouts and only remembered parts of the crime, but not killing Ray. Later he admitted “he must of killed her” and led police to Ray’s body, according to court records.
At his 1994 trial he presented an insanity defense, including that he suffered from psychogenic amnesia – periods of time lapse without memory. Medical experts who provided rebuttal testimony said Crawford didn’t have psychogenic amnesia and didn’t show evidence of bipolar illness.
The last person executed in Mississippi was Richard Jordan in June, previously the state’s oldest and longest serving person on death row.
There are 36 people on death row, according to records from the Mississippi Department of Corrections.
Update 9/15/25: This story has been updated to include a response from the Mississippi Office of Capital Post-Conviction Counsel
This article first appeared on Mississippi Today and is republished here under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.
The post Mississippi prepares for another execution appeared first on mississippitoday.org
Note: The following A.I. based commentary is not part of the original article, reproduced above, but is offered in the hopes that it will promote greater media literacy and critical thinking, by making any potential bias more visible to the reader –Staff Editor.
Political Bias Rating: Centrist
The article presents a factual and balanced account of the legal proceedings surrounding a scheduled execution in Mississippi. It includes perspectives from both the state’s attorney general’s office and the defense counsel, without using emotionally charged language or advocating for a particular political stance. The focus on legal details and court decisions reflects a neutral, informative approach typical of centrist reporting.
Mississippi Today
Presidents are taking longer to declare major natural disasters. For some, the wait is agonizing
TYLERTOWN — As an ominous storm approached Buddy Anthony’s one-story brick home, he took shelter in his new Ford F-250 pickup parked under a nearby carport.
Seconds later, a tornado tore apart Anthony’s home and damaged the truck while lifting it partly in the air. Anthony emerged unhurt. But he had to replace his vehicle with a used truck that became his home while waiting for President Donald Trump to issue a major disaster declaration so that federal money would be freed for individuals reeling from loss. That took weeks.
“You wake up in the truck and look out the windshield and see nothing. That’s hard. That’s hard to swallow,” Anthony said.
Disaster survivors are having to wait longer to get aid from the federal government, according to a new Associated Press analysis of decades of data. On average, it took less than two weeks for a governor’s request for a presidential disaster declaration to be granted in the 1990s and early 2000s. That rose to about three weeks during the past decade under presidents from both major parties. It’s taking more than a month, on average, during Trump’s current term, the AP found.
The delays mean individuals must wait to receive federal aid for daily living expenses, temporary lodging and home repairs. Delays in disaster declarations also can hamper recovery efforts by local officials uncertain whether they will receive federal reimbursement for cleaning up debris and rebuilding infrastructure. The AP collaborated with Mississippi Today and Mississippi Free Press on the effects of these delays for this report.
“The message that I get in the delay, particularly for the individual assistance, is that the federal government has turned its back on its own people,” said Bob Griffin, dean of the College of Emergency Preparedness, Homeland Security and Cybersecurity at the University at Albany in New York. “It’s a fundamental shift in the position of this country.”
The wait for disaster aid has grown as Trump remakes government
The Federal Emergency Management Agency often consults immediately with communities to coordinate their initial disaster response. But direct payments to individuals, nonprofits and local governments must wait for a major disaster declaration from the president, who first must receive a request from a state, territory or tribe. Major disaster declarations are intended only for the most damaging events that are beyond the resources of states and local governments.
Trump has approved more than two dozen major disaster declarations since taking office in January, with an average wait of almost 34 days after a request. That ranged from a one-day turnaround after July’s deadly flash flooding in Texas to a 67-day wait after a request for aid because of a Michigan ice storm. The average wait is up from a 24-day delay during his first term and is nearly four times as long as the average for former Republican President George H.W. Bush, whose term from 1989-1993 coincided with the implementation of a new federal law setting parameters for disaster determinations.
The delays have grown over time, regardless of the party in power. Former Democratic President Joe Biden, in his last year in office, averaged 26 days to declare major disasters — longer than any year under former Democratic President Barack Obama.
FEMA did not respond to the AP’s questions about what factors are contributing to the trend.
Others familiar with FEMA noted that its process for assessing and documenting natural disasters has become more complex over time. Disasters have also become more frequent and intense because of climate change, which is mostly caused by the burning of fuels such as gas, coal and oil.
The wait for disaster declarations has spiked as Trump’s administration undertakes an ambitious makeover of the federal government that has shed thousands of workers and reexamined the role of FEMA. A recently published letter from current and former FEMA employees warned the cuts could become debilitating if faced with a large-enough disaster. The letter also lamented that the Trump administration has stopped maintaining or removed long-term planning tools focused on extreme weather and disasters.
Shortly after taking office, Trump floated the idea of “getting rid” of FEMA, asserting: “It’s very bureaucratic, and it’s very slow.”
FEMA’s acting chief suggested more recently that states should shoulder more responsibility for disaster recovery, though FEMA thus far has continued to cover three-fourths of the costs of public assistance to local governments, as required under federal law. FEMA pays the full cost of its individual assistance.
Former FEMA Administrator Pete Gaynor, who served during Trump’s first term, said the delay in issuing major disaster declarations likely is related to a renewed focus on making sure the federal government isn’t paying for things state and local governments could handle.
“I think they’re probably giving those requests more scrutiny,” Gaynor said. “And I think it’s probably the right thing to do, because I think the (disaster) declaration process has become the ‘easy button’ for states.”
The Associated Press on Monday received a statement from White House spokeswoman Abigail Jackson in response to a question about why it is taking longer to issue major natural disaster declarations:
“President Trump provides a more thorough review of disaster declaration requests than any Administration has before him. Gone are the days of rubber stamping FEMA recommendations – that’s not a bug, that’s a feature. Under prior Administrations, FEMA’s outsized role created a bloated bureaucracy that disincentivized state investment in their own resilience. President Trump is committed to right-sizing the Federal government while empowering state and local governments by enabling them to better understand, plan for, and ultimately address the needs of their citizens. The Trump Administration has expeditiously provided assistance to disasters while ensuring taxpayer dollars are spent wisely to supplement state actions, not replace them.”
In Mississippi, frustration festered during wait for aid
The tornado that struck Anthony’s home in rural Tylertown on March 15 packed winds up to 140 mph. It was part of a powerful system that wrecked homes, businesses and lives across multiple states.
Mississippi’s governor requested a federal disaster declaration on April 1. Trump granted that request 50 days later, on May 21, while approving aid for both individuals and public entities.
On that same day, Trump also approved eight other major disaster declarations for storms, floods or fires in seven other states. In most cases, more than a month had passed since the request and about two months since the date of those disasters.
If a presidential declaration and federal money had come sooner, Anthony said he wouldn’t have needed to spend weeks sleeping in a truck before he could afford to rent the trailer where he is now living. His house was uninsured, Anthony said, and FEMA eventually gave him $30,000.
In nearby Jayess in Lawrence County, Dana Grimes had insurance but not enough to cover the full value of her damaged home. After the eventual federal declaration, Grimes said FEMA provided about $750 for emergency expenses, but she is now waiting for the agency to determine whether she can receive more.
“We couldn’t figure out why the president took so long to help people in this country,” Grimes said. “I just want to tie up strings and move on. But FEMA — I’m still fooling with FEMA.”
Jonathan Young said he gave up on applying for FEMA aid after the Tylertown tornado killed his 7-year-old son and destroyed their home. The process seemed too difficult, and federal officials wanted paperwork he didn’t have, Young said. He made ends meet by working for those cleaning up from the storm.
“It’s a therapy for me,” Young said, “to pick up the debris that took my son away from me.”
Historically, presidential disaster declarations containing individual assistance have been approved more quickly than those providing assistance only to public entities, according to the AP’s analysis. That remains the case under Trump, though declarations for both types are taking longer.
About half the major disaster declarations approved by Trump this year have included individual assistance.
Some people whose homes are damaged turn to shelters hosted by churches or local nonprofit organizations in the initial chaotic days after a disaster. Others stay with friends or family or go to a hotel, if they can afford it.
But some insist on staying in damaged homes, even if they are unsafe, said Chris Smith, who administered FEMA’s individual assistance division under three presidents from 2015-2022. If homes aren’t repaired properly, mold can grow, compounding the recovery challenges.
That’s why it’s critical for FEMA’s individual assistance to get approved quickly — ideally, within two weeks of a disaster, said Smith, who’s now a disaster consultant for governments and companies.
“You want to keep the people where they are living. You want to ensure those communities are going to continue to be viable and recover,” Smith said. “And the earlier that individual assistance can be delivered … the earlier recovery can start.”
In the periods waiting for declarations, the pressure falls on local officials and volunteers to care for victims and distribute supplies.
In Walthall County, where Tylertown is, insurance agent Les Lampton remembered watching the weather news as the first tornado missed his house by just an eighth of a mile. Lampton, who moonlights as a volunteer firefighter, navigated the collapsed trees in his yard and jumped into action. About 45 minutes later, the second tornado hit just a mile away.
“It was just chaos from there on out,” Lampton said.
Walthall County, with a population of about 14,000, hasn’t had a working tornado siren in about 30 years, Lampton said. He added there isn’t a public safe room in the area, although a lot of residents have ones in their home.
Rural areas with limited resources are hit hard by delays in receiving funds through FEMA’s public assistance program, which, unlike individual assistance, only reimburses local entities after their bills are paid. Long waits can stoke uncertainty and lead cost-conscious local officials to pause or scale-back their recovery efforts.
In Walthall County, officials initially spent about $700,000 cleaning up debris, then suspended the cleanup for more than a month because they couldn’t afford to spend more without assurance they would receive federal reimbursement, said county emergency manager Royce McKee. Meanwhile, rubble from splintered trees and shattered homes remained piled along the roadside, creating unsafe obstacles for motorists and habitat for snakes and rodents.
When it received the federal declaration, Walthall County took out a multimillion-dollar loan to pay contractors to resume the cleanup.
“We’re going to pay interest and pay that money back until FEMA pays us,” said Byran Martin, an elected county supervisor. “We’re hopeful that we’ll get some money by the first of the year, but people are telling us that it could be [longer].”
Lampton, who took after his father when he joined the volunteer firefighters 40 years ago, lauded the support of outside groups such as Cajun Navy, Eight Days of Hope, Samaritan’s Purse and others. That’s not to mention the neighbors who brought their own skid steers and power saws to help clear trees and other debris, he added.
“That’s the only thing that got us through this storm, neighbors helping neighbors,” Lampton said. “If we waited on the government, we were going to be in bad shape.”
Lieb reported from Jefferson City, Missouri, and Wildeman from Hartford, Connecticut.
Update 98/25: This story has been updated to include a White House statement released after publication.
This article first appeared on Mississippi Today and is republished here under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.
The post Presidents are taking longer to declare major natural disasters. For some, the wait is agonizing appeared first on mississippitoday.org
Note: The following A.I. based commentary is not part of the original article, reproduced above, but is offered in the hopes that it will promote greater media literacy and critical thinking, by making any potential bias more visible to the reader –Staff Editor.
Political Bias Rating: Center-Left
This article presents a critical view of the Trump administration’s handling of disaster declarations, highlighting delays and their negative impacts on affected individuals and communities. It emphasizes concerns about government downsizing and reduced federal support, themes often associated with center-left perspectives that favor robust government intervention and social safety nets. However, it also includes statements from Trump administration officials defending their approach, providing some balance. Overall, the tone and framing lean slightly left of center without being overtly partisan.
Mississippi Today
Northeast Mississippi speaker and worm farmer played key role in Coast recovery after Hurricane Katrina
The 20th anniversary of Hurricane Katrina slamming the Mississippi Gulf Coast has come and gone, rightfully garnering considerable media attention.
But still undercovered in the 20th anniversary saga of the storm that made landfall on Aug. 29, 2005, and caused unprecedented destruction is the role that a worm farmer from northeast Mississippi played in helping to revitalize the Coast.
House Speaker Billy McCoy, who died in 2019, was a worm farmer from the Prentiss, not Alcorn County, side of Rienzi — about as far away from the Gulf Coast as one could be in Mississippi.
McCoy grew other crops, but a staple of his operations was worm farming.
Early after the storm, the House speaker made a point of touring the Coast and visiting as many of the House members who lived on the Coast as he could to check on them.
But it was his action in the forum he loved the most — the Mississippi House — that is credited with being key to the Coast’s recovery.
Gov. Haley Barbour had called a special session about a month after the storm to take up multiple issues related to Katrina and the Gulf Coast’s survival and revitalization. The issue that received the most attention was Barbour’s proposal to remove the requirement that the casinos on the Coast be floating in the Mississippi Sound.
Katrina wreaked havoc on the floating casinos, and many operators said they would not rebuild if their casinos had to be in the Gulf waters. That was a crucial issue since the casinos were a major economic engine on the Coast, employing an estimated 30,000 in direct and indirect jobs.
It is difficult to fathom now the controversy surrounding Barbour’s proposal to allow the casinos to locate on land next to the water. Mississippi’s casino industry that was birthed with the early 1990s legislation was still new and controversial.
Various religious groups and others had continued to fight and oppose the casino industry and had made opposition to the expansion of gambling a priority.
Opposition to casinos and expansion of casinos was believed to be especially strong in rural areas, like those found in McCoy’s beloved northeast Mississippi. It was many of those rural areas that were the homes to rural white Democrats — now all but extinct in the Legislature but at the time still a force in the House.
So, voting in favor of casino expansion had the potential of being costly for what was McCoy’s base of power: the rural white Democrats.
Couple that with the fact that the Democratic-controlled House had been at odds with the Republican Barbour on multiple issues ranging from education funding to health care since Barbour was inaugurated in January 2004.
Barbour set records for the number of special sessions called by the governor. Those special sessions often were called to try to force the Democratic-controlled House to pass legislation it killed during the regular session.
The September 2005 special session was Barbour’s fifth of the year. For context, current Gov. Tate Reeves has called four in his nearly six years as governor.
There was little reason to expect McCoy to do Barbour’s bidding and lead the effort in the Legislature to pass his most controversial proposal: expanding casino gambling.
But when Barbour ally Lt. Gov. Amy Tuck, who presided over the Senate, refused to take up the controversial bill, Barbour was forced to turn to McCoy.
The former governor wrote about the circumstances in an essay he penned on the 20th anniversary of Hurricane Katrina for Mississippi Today Ideas.
“The Senate leadership, all Republicans, did not want to go first in passing the onshore casino law,” Barbour wrote. “So, I had to ask Speaker McCoy to allow it to come to the House floor and pass. He realized he should put the Coast and the state’s interests first. He did so, and the bill passed 61-53, with McCoy voting no.
“I will always admire Speaker McCoy, often my nemesis, for his integrity in putting the state first.”
Incidentally, former Rep. Bill Miles of Fulton, also in northeast Mississippi, was tasked by McCoy with counting, not whipping votes, to see if there was enough support in the House to pass the proposal. Not soon before the key vote, Miles said years later, he went to McCoy and told him there were more than enough votes to pass the legislation so he was voting no and broached the idea of the speaker also voting no.
It is likely that McCoy would have voted for the bill if his vote was needed.
Despite his no vote, the Biloxi Sun Herald newspaper ran a large photo of McCoy and hailed the Rienzi worm farmer as a hero for the Mississippi Gulf Coast.
This article first appeared on Mississippi Today and is republished here under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.
The post Northeast Mississippi speaker and worm farmer played key role in Coast recovery after Hurricane Katrina appeared first on mississippitoday.org
Note: The following A.I. based commentary is not part of the original article, reproduced above, but is offered in the hopes that it will promote greater media literacy and critical thinking, by making any potential bias more visible to the reader –Staff Editor.
Political Bias Rating: Centrist
The article presents a factual and balanced account of the political dynamics surrounding Hurricane Katrina recovery efforts in Mississippi, focusing on bipartisan cooperation between Democratic and Republican leaders. It highlights the complexities of legislative decisions without overtly favoring one party or ideology, reflecting a neutral and informative tone typical of centrist reporting.
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