<p>Woman kills rape suspect in her home</p><p>By Peter Ortiz The Arizona Republic Feb. 2, 2000 </p><p>When a man broke into her Apache Junction home early Tuesday and announced, "I'm going to kill everyone," Bricie Tribble didn't hesitate. </p><p>She reached for the handgun on her kitchen counter and shot the man dead. Only later did she realize that she knew the man and that he was believed to have raped and shot a woman just an hour earlier.</p><p>The man's death ended a night of terror that began in a Wal-Mart parking lot in Chandler at about 11 p.m. Monday when the man pedaled his bike up to a 33-year-old woman and asked for the time. </p><p>Police said the man pushed the woman into her sport utility vehicle and forced her at gunpoint to drive to a desert road in northeast Mesa, where he sexually assaulted her and shot her in the cheek, right arm and chest. </p><p>The attacker drove off in the woman's vehicle, but she managed to make it to a nearby house and place a 911 call. </p><p>"The guy raped me and then he took off in my truck," the terrified woman told the operator. "I guess he left figuring I was dead. I am not dead." </p><p>A little after midnight, the man, in his 20s, was inside Tribble's Apache Junction home going through the personal belongings of the sexual-assault victim, which he had brought into the house, police said. </p><p>Tribble, 28, grabbed the loaded handgun and fired several times. She later told an emergency operator that she recognized the man she had just shot as a former worker in her husband's excavation business. </p><p>Tribble's husband, Jeff, and 9-year-old nephew were also in the home but were not harmed. </p><p>The dead man's name was being being withheld by the Chandler police pending further investigation. </p><p>* * * </p><p>Reach the reporter at [email protected] or (602) 444-7726. </p><p>BACK TO TOP Vt. Bill targets people without guns </p><p>Legislator dreams of citizens' militia</p><p>By Ellen Barry, Globe Staff, 2/1/2000 </p><p> aking 200-year-old constitutional provisions for the creation of a ''well-regulated militia'' to their most extreme conclusion, a Vermont lawmaker has proposed a crackdown on Vermonters who do not own guns.</p><p>Harkening back to the days of town square militia musters and citizens' armies, House bill 760 would require residents over 18 who do not own guns to register with the secretary of state's office and pay a $500 penalty. </p><p>Hot on its heels was House bill 763, also introduced Friday, which would make military training a prerequisite for a high school diploma in the state. </p><p>The man behind both bills is state Representative Fred Maslack, a two-term Republican legislator and quarry worker from East Poultney. Maslack, a longtime proponent of gun-owners' rights, does not expect a mass uprising or to see his bills voted into law. </p><p>But he does fantasize about greeting gun-control activists and liberal politicians at a grand muster of a citizen's militia under the command of Vermont's Democratic governor, Howard Dean.</p><p>Whether or not state lawmakers want to admit it, Maslack said, the right to carry arms comes with the obligation to serve in a militia. </p><p>''What this is supposed to do is illustrate what I consider to be the only constitutionally correct view of this issue,'' Maslack said. ''It certainly isn't politically correct, I can tell you that.''</p><p>Alongside Vermont's progressive approaches to land management, gay marriage, and school funding is a strong lobby for gun-owners' rights that some say is a natural outgrowth of its rural heritage. Vermont has some of the country's least restrictive gun laws and has one of the highest rates of membership in the National Rifle Association. The state also allows all adults to carry a concealed gun without a permit.</p><p>Still, lawmakers on both sides of the gun-rights debate were looking at Maslack's legislation with amusement yesterday.</p><p>''I can't believe it's going to be taken seriously,'' said Representative Ann Seibert (D-Norwich). ''There's a lot of common sense in Vermont. You get heated issues, but common sense prevails.''</p><p>The two militia-related bills are not Maslack's first effort to bolster the rights of Vermont gun owners. He joined two other state representatives two weeks ago in suing three high-ranking public officials on grounds of fraud and conspiracy in protest of Vermont's enforcement of the Brady Law, which requires background checks on gun purchasers. </p><p>Bills 760 and 763, which he sponsored independently, aimed chiefly to make a point about gun ownership. </p><p>''Everyone gets focused on the right, and they forget about the obligations,'' Maslack said. ''It's saying, if you have a military obligation, then you have to deal with it.''</p><p>Vermont has a proud militia tradition dating back to 1770, when Ethan Allen formed an unauthorized citizens' militia to fend off tax collectors from New York State. Article 9 of the Green Mountain State's 1793 constitution requires financial contributions from Vermonters ''scrupulous of bearing arms'' in a citizen's army.</p><p>But historians said that the need for militias waned after the American Revolution and that by the 1830s and 1840s, most of them were poorly organized and undersupplied.</p><p>''The record overall is that if we had depended on the militias, we would all be drinking tea and eating scones at 4 o'clock,'' said Saul Cornell, a historian at Ohio State University who is editing a book on militias and the Second Amendment.</p><p>Michael Bellesile, an Emory University historian who has focused on Vermont's movement, suggested that the fine prescribed by Article 9 may have been designed to ''coerce people'' into coming out for militia musters - a goal achieved in other states by supplying participants with alcohol, money, or free guns. </p><p>But in one way, he said, Maslack's proposal falls squarely into state tradition.</p><p>''Vermonters take enormous pride in being just a little different. They love to be curmudgeons and iconoclasts,'' said Bellesile, a native of Quebec. ''This guy fits perfectly.''</p><p>No state has ever required its citizens to own guns, but Maslack's plan had a precedent in the city of Kennesaw, Ga., in the early 1980s.</p><p>City officials there said the requirement was largely symbolic, but also boasted that crime rates fell dramatically in the years that followed its introduction. </p><p>This story ran on page B01 of the Boston Globe on 2/1/2000. © Copyright 2000 Globe Newspaper Company. How to ruin gun makers, chapter 11 Senate shoots down firearms industry bankruptcy amendment </p><p>By Jon E. Dougherty © 2000 WorldNetDaily.com </p><p>An amendment that would have prohibited gun manufacturers from seeking bankruptcy protection if a court found them liable in any one of over two dozen civil lawsuits failed substantially in roll call vote on the Senate floor yesterday. </p><p>The amendment, offered by Sen. Carl Levin, D-Mich., was offered when the Senate took up debate on S.625, the "Bankruptcy Reform Act of 1999," but the measure went down to defeat by a vote of 68-29. </p><p>A simple majority was required to pass the amendment. </p><p>In a statement describing his amendment on Tuesday, Levin said it would have altered the bankruptcy code "so that a firearm manufacturer or distributor who is found liable or may be found liable for negligence or reckless action cannot escape accountability by filing for reorganization in bankruptcy." </p><p>Levin said his amendment had "the endorsement of the National League of Cities, the U.S. Conference of Mayors, Handgun Control, Inc., which is Sarah Brady's organization, and the Violence Policy Center." </p><p>Before the vote, Levin delivered prepared remarks, comparing his amendment to other bankruptcy provisions already on the books. </p><p>"For instance, we have in the law a provision that says that if you drive while drunk and you injure somebody, you cannot discharge that obligation by going bankrupt," Levin said. </p><p>"We have a provision that says that if you have an obligation to the government for a student loan, you are not going to be able to get rid of that by going bankrupt," he said. </p><p>"We have a provision in the bankruptcy law that says if you have an obligation to a co-op or to a condo for a fee that you owe to them, that under certain circumstances, that's not going to be dischargeable in bankruptcy. </p><p>"And what we are saying now, in this amendment, is that where a gun manufacturer or a distributor through his own reckless or negligent or fraudulent conduct, causes damages to individuals or to our communities, that they should not be able to reorganize in bankruptcy court and get rid of that debt," he added. </p><p>After the overwhelming defeat of Levin's amendment, WorldNetDaily contacted the senator's office, but no one was available to comment. </p><p>Jon E. Dougherty is a staff reporter for WorldNetDaily. </p><p>Net Tax May Get the Heave-Ho by Declan McCullagh </p><p>3:35 p.m. 2.Feb.2000 PST WASHINGTON -- If you don't like the idea of rapacious tax collectors making you pay extra for online purchases, two U.S. legislators want to ease your fears. </p><p>At a press conference scheduled for Thursday morning in the Capitol building, Representative Chris Cox (R-California) and Senator Ron Wyden (D-Oregon) will announce a plan to ban Net-only taxes forever. </p><p>As in never again. </p><p>See also: Internet Tax? Maybe, Maybe Not Read more in E-Biz Read more in Executive Summary Read more Politics -- from Wired News</p><p>Of course, a future Congress could change that, but for now the bill likely will be considered by the House and Senate commerce committees, and there's even a decent chance it could become law. </p><p>Cox, chairman of the House Policy Committee, and Wyden have worked together in the past. Two years ago, they persuaded Congress to approve the 1998 Internet Tax Freedom Act, which barred states from imposing taxes that solely applied to Internet purchases. </p><p>State and local governments aren't exactly a fan of this idea. At meetings of a congressional advisory commission, their representatives have fretted that they could lose billions in sales tax revenue. </p><p>"The facts are in, and conclusively so," Cox said. "The Internet economy is generating tremendous tax revenue for state and local governments. Making the moratorium on new and discriminatory Internet taxes permanent will help sustain this growth." The one-page bill is unusually straightforward: It changes one sentence in federal law and makes the existing three-year moratorium permanent. </p><p>It also may stand a good chance of success. </p><p>"This thing could go through like a rocket," says Jim Lucier, an analyst in Prudential Securities' office in Arlington, Virginia. "You cut out months and months of explaining to people what this legislation is about. </p><p>"The elegance of the proposal is that there's not much to do. It allows the congressional bias in favor of the status quo to come through." </p><p>If the bill appears to gain broad support, it could influence the votes of the members of the federal advisory panel, who are meeting next in Dallas on 20-21 March to vote on their recommendations to Congress. </p><p>Free-market groups applauded the Cox-Wyden bill. </p><p>"In California, where e-commerce sales have been doubling every year since 1995, sales tax revenues have grown as well. Last year, they grew 12 percent," said Sonia Arrison, an analyst at the Pacific Research Institute and an expert witness for the advisory commission. "That just goes to show that the economic pie is growing and everyone will be better off if the government just leaves the Internet alone." Enforcement comes from military </p><p>Web posted Jan. 30 at 10:46 PM</p><p>Have a thought? Go to the @ugusta Forums.</p><p>By Greg Rickabaugh South Carolina Bureau </p><p>EDGEFIELD, S.C. -- Fisher Strom went to Kosovo with a yearlong mission to restore law and order to the war-torn land. He has returned home six months later, deflated of energy, shaken by the experience and frustrated with the lack of support by the United Nations.</p><p>Now, the former Aiken police officer must decide whether to return and complete the challenge or give up the handsome salary that went along with the job.</p><p>``I'm not sure yet,'' he said Wednesday from his Edgefield ranch, where he was enjoying a vacation from the overseas mission. ``The conditions have not discouraged me -- I can do without electricity; I can do without heat; I can do without good food. But just the sheer futility of it, of just going out there every day, seeing the same problems, and no one will address it.''</p><p>It's far from the adventure he planned.</p><p>Lured by the promise of $100,000 in tax-free money to join an international peacekeeping force for a year, the veteran police officer quit his post at the Aiken Department of Public Safety last summer. He went through a vigorous application process that challenged his physical and mental abilities and tested his mental competence to handle conflict. When he passed -- only 100 out of 2,000 applicants qualify -- he underwent a week's training in Texas to prepare.</p><p>Then, he stepped off the plane in Kosovo.</p><p>``We get over there, and you can see the tracer fire and the grenades going off. I mean, it's still World War III,'' he said. ``You're policing a war is what you're doing. You're policing a civil war.''</p><p>Officer Strom's original mission was to restore law and order and train the Kosovo police force in law enforcement techniques. But he found it hard to restore law and order without any laws on the books. Kosovo officials and the United Nations have not agreed on basic criminal laws. Albanian prosecutors turn most suspects loose.</p><p>``The United Nations has yet to set up the first court to deal with the first crime. What frustrates you is the lack of UN support. You catch a man burglarizing a shop ... You say, `Don't do this anymore.' ``If you come to me and say, `This man broke into my shop and stole 500 cartons of cigarettes,' I can't do anything about it. I can arrest him, but they will turn him loose. So the shop owner looks at me and says, `What good are you?'</p><p>``We've arrested 11 murderers in the Podujevo district, 10 of which have been released. They are out on no bond.''</p><p>The Albanians he was given to train in law enforcement were mostly part of a Mafia organization, known for dealing in drugs, prostitution, car thefts and extortion.</p><p>``So what you're doing is letting Al Capone pick the Chicago Police Department. So, all we're getting is these thugs to train,'' he said.</p><p>An average day for the civilian officer consisted of answering complaints of stolen cows to firewood theft to accident fatalities, which are high because of the absence of traffic laws.</p><p>The only hope for stopping the chaos, Mr. Strom said, sits with the military forces, who are able to operate under martial law and hold suspected criminals in stockades for specific violations.</p><p>``They're the real deal. We're sort of the Mr. Rodgers,'' he said.</p><p>Another negative for Officer Strom: the promise of $100,000 turned out to be wishful thinking. Minutes after his arrival there, Officer Strom was immediately told his salary dropped by almost 10 percent, blamed on cost of living fluctuations.</p><p>Aside from the stress of the job, living conditions are tough there. Winter conditions put temperatures in the single digits, and electricity is available in weekly spurts that last only a few hours because of antique power plants.</p><p>Communication systems are ancient, and twice-a-month telephone calls home to South Carolina lasted only minutes because of expensive and complicated satellite phone systems. It took two weeks to get a letter home and two more weeks to get a response.</p><p>Officer Strom lived with an Albanian couple and their five children, two of which are interpreters who speak English.</p><p>The job required him to work 30 days in a row and then six days off. It was demanding, and his police force has only seven cars for 30 officers.</p><p>Officer Strom said the violence in Kosovo is overwhelming. For instance, a 16-year-old Albanian boy killed his 14-year-old brother over who would drive a vehicle. ``Everything there is violent,'' Mr. Strom said. ``That's how everything is dealt with. That's just their answer to it.''</p><p>On Jan. 20, he returned home to his wife, Suzanne, and two children for a two-week respite. As he enjoyed the stay on his 30-acre Edgefield farm and attended Augusta Futurity horsing events daily, Officer Strom pondered whether he would return to complete an impossible mission.</p><p>``I kind of feel bad about just going over there for the money. You know, the money's nice,'' he said. ``But we're not making a difference. The police part is just a joke. And, how long do you do this until you finally say, `Why am I here?'''</p><p>Reach Greg Rickabaugh at (803) 279-689 The Coca-Cola patrol: On the beat with U.N. police in Kosovo</p><p>February 1, 2000 Web posted at: 3:57 p.m. EST (2057 GMT)</p><p>By Steve Nettleton CNN Interactive Correspondent</p><p>PRISTINA, Kosovo (CNN) -- As a squad of British soldiers escorts a pair of U.N. police officers down a muddy downtown street, a car pulls over to the curb in front of them. </p><p>Four armed men file out, one conspicuously toting a Kalashnikov assault rifle, and pass within meters of the surprised police and peacekeepers. </p><p>Their solid pea-green uniforms bear red shoulder patches. The British soldiers say they are members of the Kosovo Protection Corps (KPC), a civil force composed primarily of former members of the Kosovo Liberation Army. </p><p>The KPC -- founded to serve as a sort of national guard to help rebuild destroyed homes, repair roads and assist in clearing mines -- is supposed to be unarmed. A few senior officers may carry side arms. No one is supposed to carry an assault weapon. </p><p>The commander of the British patrol casts a wary eye as the men disappear into a restaurant. He gives no order to move in. This is not a fight he wants to pick. At least not tonight. </p><p>The brazenness with which the KPC members challenged the patrol is revealing. It shows just how difficult it is for the peacekeepers and police to earn the confidence of the people they are trying to protect in Kosovo. </p><p>More than 420 murders have been reported since June. A wave of arson attacks continues, though it has declined in recent weeks. Organized crime has established thriving enterprises in drug trafficking, cigarette and liquor smuggling, and car theft. </p><p>Justice on a shoestring</p><p>Although the NATO-led Kosovo Force, or KFOR, has posted about 45,000 troops throughout the province, the U.N.-run international police force has been unable to muster even half of the 4,700 officers it needs. </p><p>Some 2,000 police from 42 countries are on loan in Kosovo. Another 600 are expected to arrive by spring, just before some of the current officers finish their one-year assignments and return home. A Kosovar-run police force is to eventually assume the responsibility of maintaining law and order, but training and building one will take time, U.N. police say. </p><p>Perhaps the biggest obstacle to securing law and order is the ill-functioning court system. Jails fill quickly because understaffed courts cannot process cases. With no spare cells, the police arrest only those suspected of the most serious offenses. </p><p>"We tell officers that unless there is a serious crime, these people will not stay in jail," said Gilles Moreau of Canada, spokesman for the U.N. Mission in Kosovo police. "All you can do is get their names, photograph them, fingerprint them and let them go." </p><p>On the edge in Pristina</p><p>In their bright red-and-white SUVs, nicknamed "Coca-Colas" by Kosovars, the U.N. police weave through clogged city streets, stopping to investigate anything that seems out of the ordinary. </p><p>They also perform a humanitarian mission. They take food and supplies to Serbs who refuse to venture outside their KFOR-protected homes or apartments for fear of revenge attacks. </p><p>"Now they are giving us another job," says officer Ricardo Fernandez of Spain. "Now they want us to start controlling traffic." </p><p>I am on patrol in Pristina with Fernandez and his partner, Daniel Martinez, also from Spain. Fernandez says this and laughs as he points to a busy intersection we are approaching. </p><p>With no traffic lights, the junction is in chaos. Cars and trucks from four directions try to squeeze through simultaneously. Horns wail. Drivers scream out their windows. Somehow the vehicles move through without incident. </p><p>"Sometimes you hear that it's worse when we control the traffic," Fernandez says. "They have their own way of driving. They know how to handle their own traffic jams." </p><p>'We have to be flexible'</p><p>As we drive along Pristina's main boulevard, Mother Teresa Street, Martinez notices a black hatchback with tinted windows parked on the other side of the road. He makes a U-turn and pulls up behind the car. </p><p>They search two young men sitting inside, then inspect the back. Through a translator, the Spanish officers ask the men for a driver's license. Neither man has one. Serbian police took their IDs from them last year, they say. Such confiscations were widely reported before the Serbs withdrew in mid-1999. After a few more questions, the officers wave goodbye and return to the SUV. </p><p>"We have to be flexible," Fernandez says. "If we aren't sure that a car is stolen, all we can do is check it and make sure they don't have any weapons." </p><p>I ask Fernandez, a native of the Canary Islands, if it is frustrating to work as a police officer in Kosovo. </p><p>"Sometimes," he says. "Sometimes you know even when you arrest someone and start filling out the paperwork, you know that they are going to go free. But we have to do our job. That's the way it is. Perhaps in a few months it will be different." </p><p>'In Kosovo, you can't be an optimist'</p><p>Later that evening, I set out on a foot patrol with KFOR troops from a British outfit and two police officers -- one an American, the other a Romanian. </p><p>The patrol wanders off the main streets and into dark and deserted back lots. </p><p>The soldiers spot two men in a car on a muddy track. They surround the vehicle and order its occupants out to be searched. Like most searches, they find nothing and leave the frightened men wondering why they had attracted the attention of heavily armed troops. </p><p>In the climate of violence that developed after Kosovar Albanians began to return last summer, KFOR and the police take no chances. </p><p>The patrol next climbs the steps of a commercial center and gathers around the entrance to a popular bar. The squad leader sets up the assignment. </p><p>"We're going to go in and do a table-to-table search," he says. "First, to be polite, we'll ask the owner if it's okay. If he says no, we search it anyway." </p><p>The soldiers march into the crowded bar and announce their mission. They block the door. No one is allowed to enter or to leave. For the next 15 minutes the soldiers frisk each person in the room. </p><p>Many bar-goers laugh as they are searched in front of their companions. Most of the people appear more curious about me and my camera than they do about the British soldiers. </p><p>Again, the peacekeepers and police find nothing. They politely thank the people for their cooperation and head back to the sidewalk. </p><p>A relatively quiet day on the streets of Pristina comes to an end. As the soldiers and police return to their bases, however, they know violence could erupt at any moment. </p><p>"It's been much calmer these days," officer Fernandez of Spain told me earlier in the day. "But here in Kosovo, you can't be an optimist." Toledo police sued for taking boy’s shirt </p><p>Friday, January 28, 2000</p><p>NORMAL FONT%%TOLEDO - A lawsuit has accused two police officers in suburban Toledo of violating a boy’s free speech rights when they took a T-shirt from him last summer that they found offensive.</p><p>The American Civil Liberties Union filed the lawsuit on behalf of Tammie Feaster, mother of Daniel Shellhammer, the 14-year-old whose shirt was taken.</p><p>The shirt featuring the band Insane Clown Posse has profanity on the back.</p><p>The lawsuit filed Wednesday in U.S. District Court alleges that Shellhammer was with a friend in Northwood when he was confronted by police on Aug. 3.</p><p>The officers demanded that he remove the shirt.</p><p>According to the lawsuit, police told him to take it off, and the boy walked home without a shirt.</p><p>Police said the shirt was obscene and that he could have been arrested for disorderly conduct.</p><p>Charles Curtis, Northwood administrator, said he had not seen a copy of the lawsuit and could not comment.</p><p>The lawsuit seeks unspecified damages.</p>
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