Family and friends watch the shooting by Manteca police of Ernesto Duenez, Jr. during a media conference Wednesday, December 12, 2012 in Oakland, California. (AP Photo/Ben Margot)

Life Inside is an ongoing collaboration between the Marshall Project and VICE that offers first-person perspectives from those who live and work in the criminal justice system.

On June 8, 2011, Whitney Duenez's husband, Ernesto, was shot 11 times and killed by a police officer in Manteca, California, a small city 80 miles east of San Francisco. Police dash-cam video showed Officer John Moody fire shots at Ernesto as he climbed out of a pickup truck parked at his friend's home. Police were responding to a domestic disturbance call, and the 34-year-old was also wanted for not checking in with his parole officer and failing a drug test (Whitney says that reports of a domestic disturbance are untrue).

Police claimed Ernesto was armed with a knife as he stepped out of the truck, but the dash-cam footage was inconclusive, and defense lawyers argued the video proved Ernesto was not attempting to attack the officers.

In 2014, the Duenez family reached a $2.2 million settlement with the city of Manteca, which was divided between their attorneys, Ernesto's infant son, wife, and parents. After the lawyers, Whitney and Ernesto's son received the largest chunk of the payout.

Police have recovered the body of Taliyah Marsman. Photo via Calgary police.

A desperate four-day search to find five-year-old Taliyah Leigh Marsman was called off Thursday night when Calgary police found a body they believe belongs to the missing girl.

The grim discovery, made on a rural property near Chestermere, east of Calgary, comes just days after Marsman's mom Sara Baillie, 34, was found dead in her basement.

On Thursday, police charged Edward Downey, 46, with two counts of first-degree murder in relation to the deaths. Downey was known to both victims, according to cops.

Speaking to reporters, Calgary Police Chief Roger Chaffin said he was "saddened" by the result."

Marsman's family is "completely devastated, as am I," he said.

On Wednesday, Marsman's father Colin issued a statement begging for her safe return.

"With all my heart, I love her sooo much. She is my light! Please allow her to come home to her family."

Inspector Don Coleman said Downey has an extensive criminal history.

Coleman said he believes Marsman had already been killed by the time Monday's Amber Alert was issued to help locate her.

There are no other suspects at this time and police have not disclosed a potential motive for the murders.

Downey is scheduled to appear in court July 20.

Follow Manisha Krishnan on Twitter.

Illustrations by Madison Griffiths.

Every morning, my mom would walk.

Her stride was brisk. Ten laps around the local running track. Our dogs would often lazily collapse in the wet grass and watch her pace, panting contentedly. Once she was done, she'd continue on, walking to the office where she worked, her forehead thick with sweat. And throughout the day, she'd carry on sweating because every morning—before her walk—she'd encase her body in plastic wrap. She would leave it on all day, hidden under her clothes. The plentiful layers would draw out the water weight she so detested.

Come evening, she was a miserable, hungry heap of exhaustion—a fragile woman chewing on the collar of her jacket in front of the television. Her daily diet consisted of a watermelon Gatorade, a packet of soup, and a section of Vegemite toast she'd cut into quarters every morning. I'd usually find the other three sections strewn into the trash.

My mom has always been thin, sporting fine long limbs and razor sharp cheekbones. Illness aside, I've always found something particularly striking about her appearance. In the few framed photographs of her wedding scattered around our family home, she's a delicate 24-year-old vision, lost in a sea of pixelated white. When she married my father—an athlete at the time—he was spending his days sitting in saunas, fasting, and hungrily lusting over anything other than celery.

She lived on a diet of cereal and the occasional Mars Bar while teaching an unhealthy number of aerobics classes at the local gym. It shouldn't have been any surprise when she had a heart attack in her early 20s. Her frail body couldn't handle the pressure.

My mother has always taken a keen interest in other people with eating disorders. Friends of mine who've fallen victim have become particularly close with her. But it would never last. If, at any stage, they started looking thinner than her, she hastily began to ignore them.

Growing up, the channel we'd watch the weather on depended on how hollow-cheeked the weather lady was. The more stomach, the better. My mom once even told my father to ask one of his employees to take leave until she started gaining more weight. She felt terrorized by the competition that existed in the workplace.

When I started losing weight, my mom was the first to notice. She was happy, so long as I stayed anywhere between 119 and 125 pounds. Any smaller, and I was venturing onto her turf. Any larger, and I was astoundingly displeasing to look at.

It was as if my disinterest in food threatened hers. When living under the same roof, there could only be one winner, and this was a game she had perfected for more than 30 years. She'd open packets of chips, place them next to me, and leave the room. I would politely decline them, place them next to her, and walk away. The first to eat a chip was the weakest. When I ate out without her, I binged. I binged relentlessly. I ate whatever I could get my hands on, perhaps as some strange, sick form of rebellion.

Just before I moved out of home, I started seeing a doctor to monitor my weight and my attitude. But still I'd take photographs of my body in front of different mirrors and study them obsessively. My reflection always looked skinnier in the mirror in my bathroom than it did in my mother's wardrobe. Under the stark lighting in there, I was a pale image of stretch marks and bulging lumps.

So I'd play games with myself. If I ate breakfast one day, I wasn't allowed to eat until lunch the next, and then dinner the following. If I broke this cycle, that was fine; it just meant I'd have to purge. With swollen cheeks, I feared blood on my toothbrush. It never felt as if I got "everything" out.

The scales in my mother's bathroom revealed a weight 13 pounds heavier than those in my doctor's office—and those thirteen pounds made all the difference. No matter how dire my doctor's assessments of my health got, Mom's scales were always the ones telling the truth.

For a long time, I tried to be my mom's carer. My mom's mother, if you will. I chased referrals up and tearfully called the doctor's practice she visited regularly, insisting that she was lying about her disease. I wanted to tell them no, you idiots, she isn't suffering from "recent, unexpected weight loss" as a result of an "unidentified cause." She was sharing a bed with a ghastly disorder whispering deadly advice into her ears. One that had been there for three-quarters of her life.

But they were acquainted with a polite, timid woman. They couldn't see the vision of varicose veins who was too frail to even close her car door.

Every so often, when my mom feels particularly weak or controlled by her condition, she'll mutter, "I know I have a problem." It's no secret among our family. She'll say she wishes she had a desire to eat more, to eat at all. Her female friends will make insensitive remarks at her expense. Usually about how "lucky" she is that she remains thin in her mature years. It makes my head spin.

It's impossible to not become frustrated by her illness at times. It frightens me so deeply, and I love her more than anything. I just want her to be OK.

She still mashes up the food I've prepared for her so it's a baffling mixture of indistinguishable color and texture on her plate and pretend to chew. Sometimes, after just two mouthfuls of daal, she'll run to the bathroom with a "sudden desire to vomit."

What's hard to admit though is how often I adopt her tendencies. It's normalized: the calorie-counting notepads, hiding pieces of tofu under salad leaves, scraping food off my plate before anybody has the opportunity to question what has or has not been swallowed.

I've inherited my mother's fear of food, her shame and sadness. I envy her protruding ankles and bone structure. It's important to remind myself that this isn't what defines her—this is her illness. But her illness has developed a personality so real and so undeniably powerful that at times it's sometimes impossible to distinguish the two sometimes.

Just last weekend, in a tight dress, I exclaimed, "I look awful; you can see my bulging stomach." She put her arm around me in a comforting fashion and smiled. "You really are my daughter," she said, laughing.

The epiphany came packaged inside an issue of People magazine.

Tyrone Hofer, 16 years old at the time and living in a Hutterite colony in southern Manitoba, knew from a young age that he was different than his peers. He remembers discussing marriage when he was seven and saying "I don't want to marry a girl."

"I just said it, I had no idea why," Tyrone, 26, told VICE.

Then in 2006, Tyrone spotted a copy of People in his living room. On the cover, dressed in an embroidered turquoise button-up, former N'Sync member Lance Bass proclaimed "I'm Gay."

Tyrone turned to his mother, a stay-at-home mom who worked in the colony's community garden and kitchen, and asked "Mom, what's 'gay?'" to which she replied, "It's evil, it's disgusting. It's not right."

But after reading the article, Tyrone said he realized the word described him.

"Hearing that from my mom, it was like, 'Oh my god, they can never know. I will take this to my grave.'"

Tyrone (photo by Steven Ackerman)

Tyrone is part of a tiny but increasingly vocal group of Hutterites who are opening up about being gay in a community that hardly recognizes the concept of being homosexual, and certainly doesn't accept it. Those who are gay are left with a choice of remaining closeted for life or being completely cut off from family, friends, and a way of life that's evolved little in hundreds of years.

Hutterites are Anabaptist Christians—similar to Old Order Amish and Mennonites—with German and Austrian roots. They immigrated to North America during the 19th century, first the US and then to Canada in 1918, seeking a religious exemption from serving in the First World War (they're pacifists). Here, colonies settled in Alberta, Saskatchewan, and Manitoba. Today there are 480 Hutterite colonies in North America, mostly in Canada (Alberta alone has more than 200), with an estimated population of 50,000. Largely cut off from the rest of society, they depend on farming and believe in a "community of goods," so everything earned is shared amongst 100-150 or so residents. Because of how isolated most colonies are, both geographically and in terms of the customs they follow, it is uncommon for people to leave.

"You don't have to worry about anything," said Tyrone, speaking softly with a hint of a German accent.

Hutterites adopt traditional gender roles; men wear suspenders and dress shirts, women wear dresses and black kerchiefs on their heads—they're not allowed to wear pants. A male minister runs the colony, making both spiritual and financial decisions, while men earn money through labour jobs. Women take on roles like sewing, cooking, gardening, and teaching—some colonies forbid them from having driver's licenses or voting.

Photo by Kelly Hofer

Typically, Hutterites will attend church every day, and twice on Sundays.

Growing up in a family of eight (four boys, two girls) was "really fun," said Tyrone. His colony, Starlite, located about 50 kilometres west of Winnipeg, is 216 acres (roughly a square kilometre) and has 10,000 acres of farmland.

When he was a teenager, he worked in the hog barn, then in carpentry and mechanics, before eventually assisting the secretary treasurer in organizing the colony's finances. He wanted to go to university to pursue a degree, but that request was rejected numerous times by the Starlite minister. Colonies vary on their stance on education, but some Hutterites who spoke to VICE said education wasn't a priority—high school isn't always guaranteed. In part, that's why Tyrone decide to leave, but the bigger issue was how "toxic" it became for him to stay in the closet.

"There was a lot of praying to god to make me change, almost every night. There were a lot of tears shed," he said.

He explained how, one day, when he was visiting a neighbouring colony to hang out with a girl, as was the custom amongst boys his age, he felt uncomfortable at the pressure to kiss her.

"It was just this hollow empty feeling," he said. "I remember driving home... just being so grossed out."

Tyrone left Starlite April 24, 2011 to attend Canadian Mennonite University. But it would be another three years before he fully came out of the closet, a move that was emotionally freeing yet resulted in near total excommunication from members of his former colony.

Garett Wipf heads toward the colony he's been shunned from. Daily VICE video

In the days before Tyrone, who now lives in Winnipeg, delivered a speech at Steinbach, Manitoba's inaugural Pride march on July 9 of this year, he received a text from his younger brother. It read, "All I can say is before Hutterites will accept that being gay is Christian they will become extinct."

His little brother is the only one in Tyrone's immediate family who still speaks to him.

Stocky in build, Tyrone was dressed in a mostly nondescript outfit—maroon T-shirt, beige cargo shorts, and loafers—as he addressed the crowd of about 3,000 on the steps in front of Steinbach City Hall. But around his neck he wore a cross necklace with rainbow beads and a bright purple sequined fedora was perched on his head; all day he carried around a large Pride flag, waving it emphatically at times.

He spoke about hating himself in his younger years, choking back tears as he remembered cruel comments he would overhear about gay people.

"The worst part was not being able to speak out and defend myself. I had to absorb those verbal insults and find ways to deal with them on my own."

He told me he came out last summer to his parents in the form of an essay in which he argued it's OK to be gay and Christian. The response? Radio silence.

"I don't even know if they read it to be honest."

He followed up with a Facebook post and was flooded with support from friends—and hate from some Hutterites.

"My extended family tried their hardest to convince me not to post it on Facebook. They were extremely extremely ashamed of who I am."

Despite telling her he wasn't ready to talk, his mother showed up at his home in Winnipeg and banged on his door demanding entry; Tyrone refused to let her in and asked his roommate to tell her to leave. Soon after, he received a letter from her.

"It was one of the worst things I have ever read in my entire life," he told VICE. Tyrone won't fully detail the contents of the letter because he hopes to one day reconcile with his mother but he said she told him that his being gay was "worse than death." Neither one of his parents has spoken to him in a year. His aunt has told him he's not gay but "brainwashed" and said he'll never see his siblings get married or play with their children unless he changes.

Starlite minister Jacob Hofer, 76, who is Tyrone's uncle, was infuriated when I called him to talk about the colony's views on homosexuality.

"We don't preach gay. We preach man and wife and the other one is lust of the flesh," he said, his voice rising in agitation. "Lust of the flesh is from the devil and it gets you hell." (He later had a lawyer call me demanding that I never get in touch again.)

Asked if he missed Tyrone's presence on the colony, the minister said there's no place for gay people there.

"We raised him, we clothed him, we fed him... And he goes and works for the devil."

Zach Waldner, minister at Maple Grove colony, has told the BBC Hutterites "want to avoid temptation."

"What the eyes see and what the flesh wants, that is what we want to avoid."

Jacob told me the only way Tyrone would be allowed back on the colony is if he repented and promised to "never to do it again." Hutterites, he added, prefer to live separately from the rest of society in order to maintain Christian values.

"We don't even want to know what's going on in the world because they are totally against our lifestyle and our Christianity," he said.

Garett Wipf looks out the window at his former colony. Photo by Jordan Molaro

Save for the lilt in his voice, Garett Wipf comes across as a typical 18-year-old city kid. When I met him at Steinbach City Hall as Pride was wrapping up, he was wearing skin-tight jeans, a grey button-up, and red Chucks; his hair was knotted into a bun and he'd applied foundation on his face. Using the word "girl" liberally, he described his debaucherous adventures at Winnipeg Pride, chronicling all the different booze he consumed, as teens love to do.

Garett is a friend of Tyrone's (all the gay Hutterites I spoke to knew each other) who attended Steinbach Pride in a show of solidarity. He ran away from the Hutterite colony he was raised in more than a year and half ago, after his mother confronted him about being gay.

"She said, 'You have to turn straight, this isn't acceptable.'... She was genuinely heartbroken," he said.

After a week of silence between them, Garett had a friend meet him near a styrofoam factory at the edge of the colony.

"I threw a garbage bag of clothing into the car and just took off," he said.

Only 16 at the time, Garett said he struggled to find work in Winnipeg, but eventually wound up in his current construction gig. He has not been back to the colony since, and said that his immediate family will speak to him but when he announced that he was gay on Facebook he almost immediately lost 200 Hutterite friends.

"I'm very much hated right now," he said. "I'm probably not allowed back at the colony at all anymore, I'm basically shunned."

Garett took VICE on a drive near his former colony close to Oak Bluff, Manitoba. At the beginning of the hour-long ride, past flax and canola fields, he was lipsyncing to Fergie's "M.I.L.F. $" in the back seat and snapchatting his friends, but as the car approached the colony, which he does not want named, he began biting his lip and fidgeting with his hands, folding up a Pride sticker in tiny pieces and glancing anxiously out the window.

"I'm really nervous," he said, as we made our way along a dirt road that led to the colony, which is protected by a thick treeline, adding to its mystique. "I just feel like I'm not welcome here at all."

Despite admitting that he got bullied for being "feminine" when he was a kid—he liked playing with strollers and dolls—Garett told VICE he missed parts of colony life, specifically its "tight-knit" nature. Other Hutterites have praised the way people take care of one another on the colony.

"I got to see my friends and family every day." But as soon as he left, he said years and years of depression "washed away."

"I couldn't be out, I would stay in the closet. I couldn't help other Hutterites like I do now," he said.

Photo by Kelly Hofer

Kelly Hofer (no relation to Tyrone and Jacob) has become the face of gay Hutterites in North America.

Kelly, 23, came out when he was 19, in a Facebook post that was shared widely, scandalizing Hutterites who'd presumably never contemplated one of their own could be gay. Just prior to that, he'd moved to Calgary to pursue photography.

He's since starred in a BBC documentary called How to Get to Heaven With the Hutterites, which chronicles his journey running away from Green Acres, and has been quoted in the Guardian as well as Canadian media outlets.

Amidst the vitriol Kelly received, were messages of support from closeted Hutterites. It inspired him to start a secret Facebook group, which has about 19 members—all of them gay Hutterites.

"There are people posting about being proud of being out, people asking each other if they could meet up," he said. "Talking about their struggles."

VICE spoke with half a dozen of them, mostly men as well as one woman, who shared similar stories of either coming out of the closet and leaving or being forced from the colony, or staying on the colony with the knowledge that they would never be open about their sexuality.

When it comes to gay rights, Kelly said Hutterites are 40 to 50 years behind the rest of Canada.

"The issue of equality is not even on the table. At this point it's recognizing that gay people exist," he said.

That doesn't mean progress isn't possible. Pope Francis recently said the Catholic church owes the LGBT community an apology for discriminating against it, a position that seemed impossible only a few years ago, and just this week Anglicans passed a vote allowing same-sex marriage.

In his personal life, Kelly said his mom has completely accepted him being gay. But he's still uneasy talking to her about the guys he's dating.

"It's been kind of really difficult to be dating because there's always this underlying fear of pushing my whole family away through that."

Both Tyrone and Garett had heard of Kelly because he came out. They said their aim in going public with their stories is to help other gay Hutterites who are in the closet.

"There are still so many other gay Hutterites who are living their lives in hiding, fearful of who they are, fearful of being 'outed' or disowned by their families, mistreated, and even excommunicated," said Tyrone. "It needs to be brought to the surface."

Follow Manisha Krishnan on Twitter.

Activist and writer Desmond Cole watches Mayor John Tory return to his seat after he called upon him to address the crowd at the first public anti-racism meeting in Toronto. THE CANADIAN PRESS/Chris Young

Not even 30 minutes into the first Anti-Racism Directorate meeting in Toronto, you could tell that nobody had time for excuses.

Your days of catching Pokémon outside could be coming to an end. Photo illustration by Ebony-Renee Baker

In a decision that's bound to infuriate Pokémon Go fanatics, aka everyone, Toronto city council asked Ontario's Ministry of Transportation if it can ban texting while walking. Fortunately, common sense prevailed as the province said "nope."

Councillor Frances Nunziata, one of more conservative members of council, said in a meeting yesterday that distracted walking is a big safety issue for drivers and pedestrians. While she didn't directly mention the new Pokémon game, we're a little suspicious of the timing.

The council voted 26 to 15 in favour of Nunziata's inquiry. She said that texting and walking across the street is just as dangerous as texting and driving, and would lobby for a fine similar to the one for distracted driving.

"People are just not watching where they're going," Nunziata said. "They're just walking across the street and not seeing if the light is red or green because they're so busy on their phones."

Since Pokémon Go was released in the US and illegally downloaded here in Canada, there have been several reports of accidents involving the game, including a car crash with a Quebec City police cruiser on Tuesday.

Toronto's streets also haven't been the safest this year. Last Monday, there were a reported 18 collisions involving 20 pedestrians that one day alone. To date this year, 22 pedestrians and one cyclist have been killed in Toronto.

In June, Toronto voted on an ambitious new road safety plan with the goal of reducing pedestrian and cyclist deaths by 20 percent over the next 10 years. Toronto Mayor John Tory later clarified the goal is to get to zero pedestrian deaths as quickly as possible.

Nunziata says this law—which would have resulted in fines—would discourage people from being on their phones while walking. (Note: The threat of fines has had little effect on the following ubiquitous Toronto activities; drinking in the park, ball hockey in the streets, and dooring cyclists.)

I mean, she does have a good point since we're all guilty of looking down at our phones while walking (though, it seems more rude than fine-worthy, imo). That said, maybe you shouldn't risk your life to catch that Zapdos across the highway.

Follow Ebony-Renee Baker on Twitter

Black and brown people don't use or deal illegal drugs more frequently than whites, but they're more likely to get arrested for them. And three years after the groundbreaking decision to legalize cannabis for recreational sale in Colorado, black and brown people are less likely than whites to see the benefits of the green economy.

Reportedly, while there are more than 3,000 cannabis dispensaries nationwide, less than 36 are owned by black people. And if you're black in a weed-legal state like Colorado or Washington, you're still twice as likely to be arrested for weed than a white person.

Laws can shift, but that doesn't level the economic playing field that has long marginalized the non-white. It's disheartening, but not surprising. As anyone who's listened to a presidential candidate scream bigoted remarks, or watched a cop shoot an unarmed black person, or been inside a prison, knows America is an openly racist country. That fact doesn't change just because a drug becomes legal.

The campaign to legalize marijuana was never about challenging racial injustice in America. It was largely white activists waving the flag for cannabis reform, and it was largely white businessmen who reaped the benefits. It's up to black and brown people to reap those benefits for themselves.

In our VICELAND show Vice Does America, we passed through Denver and stopped by the Denver Relief cannabis grow house, one of the only minority-owned grows in the country, to discuss the political climate around cannabis with owner Kayvan Khalatbari.

VICE: How long have you been in the cannabis business, and what has your involvement been in the industry?
Kayvan Khalatbari: I started as an activist and advocate with SAFER and Sensible back in 2005 in Denver working on the I-100 Initiative, which legalized the possession of an ounce or less of cannabis by folks 21-plus. This led to me chasing the then mayor, now Governor John Hickenlooper around in a chicken suit at five town hall meetings in an effort to expose his refusal to debate cannabis policy. Considering he made his fortune and fame from brewing and selling beer, along with the fact that cannabis arrests actually went up the year after Denver legalized, there was a lot of hypocrisy in his stance.

In 2008, I started the dispensary Denver Relief, which I still own today and which operates as the oldest continuously operating cannabis business in Colorado, at 7-plus years. We are the largest medical cannabis cultivator and product manufacturer in Illinois with Cresco Labs and have a vertically integrated cannabis business in Las Vegas with Silver Sage Wellness.

I also currently sit on the board, committee, and councils of the National Cannabis Industry Association (NCIA), the Council on Responsible Cannabis Regulation, the Illinois Cannabis Industry Association, Students for Sensible Drug Policy (SSDP), C&C of Denver DEH Environmental Stewardship Committee, C&C of Denver Mayors Office Marijuana Work Group, and C&C of Denver Campaign for Limited Social Use.

Related: Watch 'How to Make a Cross Joint,' from our series 'Smokeables'

Since you entered the cannabis business, how has the diversity of cannabis business owners evolved?
It hasn't, and it pisses me off. I spoke recently at the National Cannabis Industry Association Business Summit on two topics: environmental stewardship and corporate social responsibility, and one of the main points was the persisting issues of minority inclusion in the cannabis industry. Denver, considered one of the most liberal places in the world with regard to cannabis, one that has shown the most progress of almost any city in America with regard to regulations, has a higher arrest and citation rate of black and brown people over white than almost any major city in America, data which was in the most recent state report on this issue. It's gross.

Drug policy affects people of color, and when pass, those folks are often left in the cold, having things on their record that would have been legal in today's world and still prevent them from getting a job, housing, a scholarship, or maintaining custody of their children. Financial and background barriers to entry often disallow people of color from being owners and operators in this industry, but also simply to be employed.

I am currently being nominated for a board position with the Minority Cannabis Business Association, which is doing what it can to further these efforts of inclusion. One of their first orders of business is something I am funding 100 percent personally, which is to create template legislation, regulations, and rules to distribute to states and local municipalities that address these issues of inclusion, retroactively fixing criminal records, keeping license fees down and license counts up, etc.

Why do so few non-white people enter the cannabis business?
The laws, rules, and regulations often don't allow for it because of high-financial barriers, holding arbitrary criminal records against folks, racist politics, and license selection processes—many of the same reasons people of color are put at a disadvantage in life in general. This industry exacerbates that.

It's all compounded by the fact that the often white, greedy folks who do have these licenses, and even the well-intending white folks, don't ever consider minority inclusion as something that should even be on their radar. It's sad how many millions and millions of lives the drug war has ruined, especially those of color, and now those folks aren't even given the opportunity to participate now. Talk about getting kicked while you're down.

Are there any efforts being made to make it easier for minorities to enter the cannabis business?
There are, but they are few. The Minority Cannabis Business Association (MCBA) is doing what I mentioned before, the National Cannabis Industry Association finally has a minority business council that I am helping with, Illinois gave "bonus points" for having minority and women inclusion, and Oakland had some cool provisions in its local ordinance that were meant to include the residents in poor neighborhoods there to try and get ownership in the industry. The problem with some of these, Oakland for instance, is that now rich white people are essentially trying to "buy" black people to be on these licenses but don't actually give them a seat at the table. Sick.

But, on that MCBA project, we're now formally getting support from NCIA, the Council on Responsible Cannabis Regulation, the SSDP, and the Drug Policy Alliance. Hit them on all fronts with exposure, education, litigation, policymaking, and so on.

Do you feel that cannabis legalization is driven more by the motivation for justice, or more by the opportunity for business?
Ten years ago, even five years ago, people pushing for social justice and drug-policy reform were the ones driving this. Color wasn't an issue because we were all one, fighting for the common goal of turning around these failed drug policies that affected all of us, but paying special attention to those of color and trying to show how unfair this actually is to them. Now: MONEY, MONEY, MONEY. Period. End of story. I would say less than one percent even have this topic on their radar let alone give a shit about progress here. It's one of the most disheartening things I've experienced, but also one of the greatest motivators. If in my position as a leader in this cannabis industry and in my home of Denver, I don't bring this topic up and fight for this... who will?

Where do you see the cannabis industry in ten years in terms of diversity?
If I have my way, it will be like how we see women in the cannabis industry. We have more women in executive positions in the cannabis industry than any other industry in America because people paid attention to it and balanced social consciousness with good business. If people focus on this issue like they do women right now, we can see this difference, but we need to rally around it.

I don't know that our current environment of restrictive licenses owned by tenured, rich white people is going to get that done. To be honest, I don't see it getting much better, but I'm hopeful, just as I was 12 years ago when we were pushing for Denver to legalize and everyone told us we were crazy, that it would never happen. People all along the way have told me and a bunch of other well-intending people in the industry that we are restricted in what we can do, that we have to play by these larger rules and hierarchies... Well, I don't subscribe to that.

Watch the full second episode of VICE Does America above and catch all new episodes on Wednesdays at 10 PM on VICELAND.

Follow Abdullah Saeed on Twitter.

Regulators around the world have been scrambling to control the onslaught of psychoactive synthetic drugs flooding the market. These drugs are made to replicate the same highs obtained from different illegal drugs, but are technically legal, due to their chemical makeup.

Musician and social activist Matt Bowden has been one of the biggest proponents of regulation for testing and approving these synthetic drugs in New Zealand. After losing close friends and family members to illegal drug use, Bowden has spent his life working to develop safer legal highs. He also spends his time designing clothes and writing and performing steampunk rock music.

On this episode of Hamilton's Pharmacopia, VICE's Hamilton Morris meets Bowden in New Zealand, and then the two head off to a cannabinoid factory in China to check out how these synthetic drugs are made and film a music video for Bowden's epic steampunk rock opera. We find out more about New Zealand's legal high gray area and why Bowden continues to crusade for a future of drug control.

The truck used by Mohamed Lahouaiej Bouhlel to attack a celebration of Bastille Day in Nice on Thursday. At least 84 were killed and dozens more wounded. (AP Photo/Luca Bruno)

The driver of the 19-ton truck that rammed into about 200 people in Nice, France, late Thursday, killing at least 84, has been identified as 31-year-old Mohamed Lahouaiej Bouhlel, a petty criminal and delivery man with no known ties to extremist groups.

Citing a French police official, theWashington Post reports Bouhlel was a Tunisian immigrant with a record of violent but not terrorist-related crime. The name was unearthed using the ID, cellphone, bank docs, and other material recovered from the truck he used to attack the crowd that had just taken in a fireworks display marking Bastille Day in the tourist-friendly capital of the French Riviera.

Initial probes were underway to determine whether Bouhlel, who had been previously charged with domestic violence, theft, and violent assault, acted alone. But with a lack of clear ties to extremist organizations and no initial claim of responsibility from ISIS on any of that group's official channels, the savage assault seemed more the work of an isolated loner than a coordinated assault—more akin to the Orlando nightclub mass shooting than the Bataclan assault last fall.

If nothing else, Bouhlel's savagery—he drove through a crowd of humanity for over a mile—seemed to spur the French government into further action, sparking a prompt extension of the controversial national state of emergency that has limited civil liberties for some residents.

Bouhlel apparently fired shots at the cops attempting to shoot him dead behind the wheel of the massive vehicle, and he ultimately succumbed to the barrage of police gunfire. An unused grenade was found in the truck, which an employee of the Via Location rental agency outside Nice told the Post was rented Monday.

"The threat of terrorism, as we have now been saying for a long time, is weighing heavily on France, and it will continue to do so for a long time yet," the French prime minister, Manuel Valls, said in Paris. "We are facing a war waged on us by terrorism."

It was the latest act of public violence where the immediate aftermath was distributed widely on social media, with abhorrent images of bloody corpses flooding the internet not long after the truck plunged into the crowd around 10:30 PM local time.

Consistent with some recent terrorist assailants who almost spontaneously seemed to claim the banner of ISIS or other Islamic militant groups, Bouhlel was described by people who knew him as not especially religious. If anything, the father of three, who had only had recently acquired his trucking license, was said to lust after women, as the Guardian reports. A French TV outlet reported Bouhlel was disgruntled after a heated divorce from his wife.

There is still much to be learned about Bouhlel, like how long he'd been in the country, and whether and how he was radicalized. But no matter the cause of his anger, it is now the source of the world's grief.

Follow Matt Taylor on Twitter.

Mike Pence (AJ Mast via AP Images)

Indiana governor Mike Pence, the fiercely conservative and ultra-religious culture warrior who is now Donald Trump's running mate, hates gay people. It's impossible to know what's in his heart, of course, but any LGBTQ person who takes a look at the man's decades in politics and the policies he's advocated will find it difficult to come to any other conclusion.

More than many Republicans, Trump has seemed tolerant of gay people, perhaps because of his cosmopolitan New York roots. Pence, whose career as an elected official began when he won a House seat in 2000, is his opposite in that respect—a middle-of-the-country conservative who Trump likely hopes will appeal to the Christian right.

Pence is best known for the political firestorm he ignited last year when he signed Indiana's Religious Freedom Restoration Act (RFRA) into law. The signing ceremony was private, but a picture tweeted by Micah Clark, the executive director of the conservative American Family Association of Indiana, showed Pence surrounded by anti-LGBTQ activists as he signed the bill, including Eric Miller of Advance America and Curt Smith of the Indiana Family Institute, giving little doubt as to the motivation behind the RFRA.

The law allows business owners and other private entities to discriminate against LGBTQ customers if they cite religious grounds to refuse them service. Indiana was the first state to pass this type of law, but a wave of them have been proposed by Republican lawmakers across the country: In 2015, 22 of these bills were introduced, though only two—in Indiana and Arkansas—became law. This year, 22 more have been introduced; 21 of those bills have died, while North Carolina's is still working its way through the state legislature.

In the wake of the passage of Indiana's RFRA, bakers, landlords, florists, photographers, and a range of other small business owners refused to serve their gay customers, eliciting outrage from the rest of the country. Real economic consequences for the state ensued. The CEO of tech-industry juggernaut Salesforce announced he would cancel all employee travel to Indiana, organizations like Angie's List pulled jobs out of the state, and a reported $60 million in convention revenue alone was lost.

As Slate's Mark Joseph Stern noted this Thursday, almost immediately after signing the bill into law, the Republican governor started to backtrack, claiming the legislation wasn't intended to explicitly discriminate against gays while dodging questions about whether it could, in practice, have that effect. Eventually, Pence walked back his support for the bill in a Wall Street Journal op-ed couched in religious rhetoric, and the following month, Indiana state lawmakers passed a "fix" to the bill intended to ameliorate fears it would be used to discriminate against LGBTQ citizens—a measure the law's critics say did not go far enough.

Pence may protest that the RFRA was not meant to legalize discrimination, but it also dovetails with his history of opposition to LGBTQ rights. Like many Republicans, Pence has been a longtime opponent of gay marriage, and has stated repeatedly—on the House floor and elsewhere—that he believes in the biblical definition of marriage as between a man and a woman. When the federal Defense of Marriage Act was overturned in 2013, Pence, by then the Indiana governor, wanted the state to pass a constitutional amendment banning same-sex marriage and even civil unions, a step even some other Republicans said went too far. (At the time, gay marriage wasn't allowed in Indiana.)

The campaign that got him into Congress in 2000 was full of anti-gay bias. Buzzfeed's Andrew Kaczynski surfaced an archive of Pence's 2000 campaign website, full of homophobic gems like this: "Congress should oppose any effort to recognize homosexual's as a 'discreet and insular minority' entitled to the protection of anti-discrimination laws similar to those extended to women and ethnic minorities."

The website also declared Pence's support for ex-gay conversion therapy, evinced the belief that organizations receiving HIV-treatment funds under the Ryan White Care Act "celebrate and encourage" HIV transmission, and demonstrated his conviction that "homosexuality is incompatible with military service."

In Pence's 12 years in Congress, he voted to define marriage as only between a man and a woman, opposed measures to block employer discrimination based on sexual orientation, and opposed the repeal of Don't Ask, Don't Tell. In 2009, he opposed the expansion of hate crime definitions to include sexual orientation because he claimed that it would have a "chilling effect" on religious expression. A year later, he told CNN that open LGBTQ military service amounts to "social experimentation."

It's been an exhilarating decade to be gay, lesbian, trans, non-binary, and otherwise queer in America. We've seen historic gains in our rights to marry, work, reproduce, and live openly and freely. Even as we fight new efforts to criminalize and marginalize our most vulnerable communities, and even as we reel from the deadliest LGBTQ massacre in US history, it's been an incredible decade politically—albeit with notable exceptions, like the national RFRA onslaught and, more recently, the fight for trans bathroom rights in North Carolina and elsewhere.

Trump's choice of Pence was in some ways to be expected, an obvious bone to toss to the religious right. But Pence's new prominence—and anti-gay planks in the draft of the Republican platform—make it clear that the GOP at-large remains more closely aligned with homophobes than with LGBTQ Americans. He was "Trump's least worst choice" for VP, as FiveThirtyEight's Nate Silver wrote. Sadly, he was very much Trump's worst choice for LGBTQ citizens.

Follow Tyler Trykowski on Twitter.

This is one of the 2,000 suits of body armor issued by the Cleveland Police Department to its officers in the run-up to the 2016 Republican National Convention. These suits were paid for through a $50 million National Special Security Event federal grant.

Investment in suits like this one, which VICE had access to thanks to a source, are just one of the many ways the department appears to be bracing for a contentious convention by militarizing with war-ready equipment. In addition to scores of new batons, tactical armor, rifle scopes, and patrol bicycles, the CPD has also been loaned three armored response and rescue vehicles and increased their protest insurance from $9.5 to 50 million.

For security purposes, police departments like Cleveland's generally don't reveal all of the new equipment they have in their repertoire. Likely the only way we'll find out if the city has acquired the tear gas it reportedly requested is if something goes terribly wrong at the convention. The CPD's caginess extends to tactical strategies: In the wake of the mass shooting of Dallas police officers early this month by gunman Micah Johnson, the city has reportedly revamped how it plans to respond to similar threats during the RNC—of course, the nature of that revamp is a secret.

Although there is always a potential for violence at political events and conventions, this election cycle has proven to be one of the most divisive in recent memory, and high-profile police shootings and attacks on officers have only heightened the national sense of tension.

Whether this particular suit of body armor is used during the convention will depend in large part on the behavior of the tens of thousands of attendees and protesters descending upon the city. But how these suits get used will be up to individual officers.

The Cleveland Police Department did not immediately respond to a request for comment. This post will be updated if it does.

Scroll down to see photos. The images have been slightly altered to protect the source.

A demonstration of how this body armor would be worn

All photos by the author

Vegan restaurants are a dime a dozen in Southern California. They're so commonplace that even us non-vegans wind up at them from time to time and, with each visit, have the recurring epiphany that hey, this stuff ain't half bad! But there's one vegan chain that stands out among the rest: Loving Hut, an international chain of over 140 restaurants and one hotel, which has been called the fastest-growing vegan franchise in the world. It's also operated by a group that many consider to be a cult.

Loving Hut was created by Supreme Master Ching Hai, a 66-year-old Vietnamese businesswoman. Besides her restaurant empire, Hai—who was once called the "Buddhist Martha" by TIME Magazine—is the creator of a jewelry line, a clothing line, and the Quan Yin Method, a pseudo-religious philosophy with as many as 500,000 followers, by some estimates.

You probably haven't heard of Hai, because she's pretty toothless as far as cults of personality go. There have been no mass suicides done in her name and she's not squeezing her followers for every red cent, a la Scientology. Instead, the Quan Yin Method preaches preservation of life above all else. Other pillars include not telling lies, not taking that which is not offered, not drinking alcohol or doing drugs, and avoiding "sexual misconduct," whatever that means.

Every cult leader needs a vehicle to spread their message, and for Hai, that vehicle is food. The Loving Hut chain has locations everywhere from Portland to Pittsburgh to Prague, which are operated less like a traditional franchise and more like a free-for-all, where each location can choose how to run the restaurant, as long as it's in line with Hai's philosophy.

I decided to visit the closest Loving Hut, about an hour's drive from Los Angeles in Claremont, California. It's nestled in a modern shopping plaza next to eateries like Le Pain Quotidien and Yogurtland. The Loving Hut, which has sun-faded, printer paper photos of various entrées taped on the front windows, is a misfit among the meticulously crafted aesthetics of its neighbors. The word "Lynchian" gets thrown around a lot lately, but there was no other way to describe what it's like to enter the restaurant.

The curtains were drawn to mitigate the hot midday sun, so the only light in the entire room came from a few beams poking through the cracks, catching the dust particles hovering in the air. A white guy with dreads in a polo shirt was feeding his baby in a stroller. At another table, two women sat across from each other, not eating, not talking. Soothing massage parlor ambient music played from speakers around the room.

A wall-mounted television played grainy scenes of nature, like those from a karaoke music video, while a ticker of affirmations scrolled below. I later learned this was Supreme Master TV, the channel owned by Hai, which broadcasts in most Loving Huts and on 71 cable and IPTV networks, according to its website. The 24-hour channel features shows called things like "Vegetarianism: The Noble Way of Living," "Animal World: Our Co-Inhabitants," and "Words of Wisdom."

I asked my server what she recommended from the menu, and she suggested the Asian Gyro—a meat substitute wrapped inside homemade scallion bread with lettuce, tomatoes, fresh herbs, and a spicy sauce. I figured I might go the rest of my life without encountering a vegan Asian/Greek fusion dish, so I jumped at this rare opportunity.

While I waited for my food, I noticed a row of celebrity portraits. These were photos of the "vegetarian and vegan elite," which ranged from people I did not recognize to Bill Clinton. The placard next to them explained with unusual capitalization, "These Smart, Beautiful, Talented People are Vegan and Vegetarian. Why aren't you?" It seemed like an odd question to pose in a restaurant where people had come specifically to eat vegan food.

The owner of this Loving Hut, Charles Liang, later told me that he's been a disciple of Ching Hai since 1996. When the first Loving Hut opened in 2008 and the brand rapidly expanded, he jumped at the opportunity to spread the vegan gospel by opening his own location.

"Most important is saving lives. Loving animals, loving others, loving yourself," Liang told me. "Everything connects with each other. Everything has vibrations. Nature is the best magic to maintain everything. That's why my restaurant is organic vegan, and not just vegan."

Liang mentioned that Supreme Master Ching Hai loves to visit her restaurants around the world and has even dropped into the Claremont location a number of times. Deities gotta eat too, after all.

My Asian Gyro came out fast and tasted great. The imitation steak tasted like real cow and the scallion flatbread added an interesting twist. And rather than proselytizing the merits of vegan living, the servers at the Claremont location pretty much left me to enjoy my meatless meal in peace.

Sure, the Supreme Master TV was still humming in the distance and the portraits of intelligent, brave, famous, beautiful vegans were staring back at me from nearby wall of fame. But if you can ignore all that for long enough to enjoy a delicious meal, you might even start to feel like a devotee of Hai yourself.

Follow Justin Caffier on Twitter.

This post originally appeared on VICE US

For this week's edition of First-Person Shooter, we gave two cameras to a knife maker in North Carolina named Adam. The owner of Biltsharp, Adam has been crafting knives for the past five years, and his slicers are coveted by chefs and collectors all over the world.

Adam snapped pics of himself and his design partner Jackie grinding handles and adding some last-minute touches to a few blades. He also stopped by his friend Zoe's metal shop and captured a few exposures of people team-welding damascus steel together. To finish his day off, Adam tested out a few of his knives by chopping the fuck out of some watermelons. We asked the bladesman a couple questions about his line of work.

VICE: What's the basic step-by-step process for making a knife?
Adam the Knife-Maker: We start with flat bars of steel and hunks of wood. We take an in-house designed CAD pattern and cut it out with a bandsaw. I freehand all my grinds with large belt grinders to remove the bulk of the material to set the main shape of the knife. Once the holes are drilled and the scratches are evened out, it's put in a kiln at a specific temperature for a specific amount of time to harden. Once the blades have hardened, I finish the grinds with very fine sanding belts and eventually work our way down to a hand-rubbed 1200 grit finish.

We craft our handles with as much respect as the blade. The fun part is digging through the endless drawers of exotic woods, carbon fiber, colored fiberglass, semiconductors, and synthetics to produce one-of-a-kind pieces. We've made many of the same blades before, but each is totally different, and no two ever have the same handle.

How long does it take to make a knife?
The average is about one week, and we try to get stuff out of the shop on a weekly basis. I work on a bunch of knives at a time, since certain steps, like heat-treating or handle-sanding, can save time if done in groups.

Who buys your knives?
I've worked with famous chefs, professional race car drivers, survivalists, ballerinas, and dudes from the paper mill. My favorite was making an interpretation of a sword from the Red Rising series for the author Pierce Brown. We make high-end, functional art pieces, so our customers include collectors and people who understand what a quality product is.

How does one get into the knife game?
My advice to new makers is to just dive in. You don't need a quarter million dollar workshop. I started out with junk tools in an old basement in South Philly. That being said, power tools are really expensive, but if you're doing it right, they pay for themselves. The knife-making community is an amazing thing. We live in an age of democratized knowledge where, through social media, you can access the greatest talents of our industry. Don't ever be afraid to reach out and ask for guidance.

Is knife-making dangerous?
Working with tools and making limb-lopping devices can get tricky. Getting cut is more rare than you think, but getting burned is a daily thing. The most dangerous thing in the shop is dust—we wear respirators to ward off the black lung.

How can readers buy your products?
Go to Biltsharp.com and sign up for the newsletter. Since what we do is so time-consuming and one-of-a-kind, I rarely have items sitting for sale on the website. Also, I post photos of life in the shop on my Instagram.

Follow Julian on Instagram and visit his website to see his own photo work.

Check out Jeff Mahannah's Flickr.

Photo by Etienne Rouillon / VICE News

This article originally appeared on VICE France

The state of emergency in France, declared the day after the attacks on the 13th of November saw 130 people killed in Paris and Saint Denis, has been extended three times in the past nine months at the request of the government and president, and with parliament's agreement. During his usual televised Bastille Day speech on Thursday, President François Hollande announced that the state of emergency wouldn't be renewed after the 26th of July.

Unfortunately, the awful events in Nice later on the 14th of July – at least 84 people killed after a lorry ploughed through a celebrating crowd – has changed this decision. While we still don't know the lorry driver's motivations – they were shot dead by the police – Hollande has confirmed the terrorist nature of the attack.

A draft law to extend the state of emergency for three months will be submitted on Tuesday in the Council of Ministers so that "parliament could review it on Wednesday and Thursday", in the words of Prime Minister Manuel Valls. To get a sense of just what this fourth renewal of a state of emergency means, we spoke to legal expert Géraldine Bovi-Hosy.

VICE: First of all, could you remind us what the state of emergency is, in legal terms?
Géraldine Bovi-Hosy: It is an exceptional system that enables the government to put in place one-off measures due to a crisis situation, like these recent terror threats. It overrules the usual rules of judicial institutions and police.

In other words, during the state of emergency, measures can be taken without going through the usual procedure, giving more power to the police commissioner. A state of emergency can ban access to vehicles or people if a specific zone is identified as a risk area, or prohibit people from staying in certain areas; it can set up a curfew, close down establishments serving the public, and impose strong constraints to protests.

Can the government only renew the state of emergency for a limited amount of time?
Nothing in the law limits the renewal of a state of emergency. But, firstly, there is a procedure you need to respect. The extension of the state of emergency can only be applied with a parliamentary vote. So it is essential for the government to propose legislation every time it needs to be renewed.

The current state of emergency had been extended by two and a half months, in anticipation of both the Euro Championships and the Tour De France. The notion of "emergency" implies a limited amount of time, but it can be extended indefinitely.

It's been nine months since declaring the first state of emergency. Why are we renewing it so often rather than just setting it for, say, a year?
Yesterday, when the president announced that the state of emergency would end on the 26th of July, he didn't expect the tragic events to happen in Nice. It's true that we apply rules step by step. At the same time, we're in a very unusual situation, so it's normal to play it by ear.

A lot of groups, like the Human Rights League of France were offended when the state of emergency was declared. In November and December, during the COP 21, the state of emergency has been redirected from its initial goal, which is fighting against terrorism.

Because, at the time, environmental activists were placed under house arrest?
Yes. We applied extreme constraints to these activists to avoid them speaking up in public places or creating a protest movement. It had nothing to do with the November attack. But the state of emergency was in place, and we used it against environmental activists. For that reason, it can be dangerous. It's important not to use this exceptional system in ways that stretch beyond its original purpose. I do wonder about the efficiency of these measures though. Their results aren't always clear.

Do you mean we're not collecting good data?
No, we have the figures. But I am sceptical. I can see that the number of people under administrative supervision has dropped. Also we haven't retrieved that many weapons during the raids. Maybe we don't know everything because they don't want to scare people, or they don't want to show the weaknesses of the system.

Extending the state of emergency requires human and financial resources. Is there a risk of burn-out from the people meant to protect us?
Totally. For this renewal, the state will use the operational reserve because the army and police have been called on a lot. A lot of overtime hasn't been paid, people can't get their days off...

Maybe we need more concrete measures, running parallel to the state of emergency. And we really need to accept some constraints, not just for two months. We have to remember that we can't do certain things like before.

It's important not to use this exceptional system in ways that stretch beyond its original purpose.

So, do we have to resign ourselves to living in a society with excessive security measures because of the terror threat?
If you go see a show, a football match or something else, there is a risk. There can be an attack any time and we have to accept it. It is by acknowledging this that we will remain safe.

Maybe we lost a sense of our reflexes and instincts being in a safe situation for so long. Afterwards, there's an attitude we can all adopt. We can't forget that the state of emergency is designed to help us. It is really important that the current situation makes it easier for people to access training courses like the PSC1, for example.

You think that courses should be set up alongside the state of emergency?
There are reactions and procedures that you need to know; like basic first aid, how to evacuate and secure a building, what to do if there is a terrorist attack or even a chemical attack... People living near a nuclear power station or a SEVESO building know some of the procedures because they regular training. If everyone knew these sorts of exercises, maybe we could avoid some of surprises and counterproductive reactions during an attack.

Thank you, Mrs Bovi Hosy.

(Photo by Theirry Ehrmann via)

This article originally appeared on VICE France

From close-ups of lifeless bodies and clips of a lorry ploughing into a crowd to interviews with heartbroken relatives, the manner in which the French media covered Thursday's Bastille Day attack on the Promenade Des Anglais in Nice has been widely criticised.

Both rolling news channels and special programmes broadcast by terrestrial channels have been lambasted – among them France 2, condemned for showing footage of the assailant careering into bystanders, as well as staging vox pops with survivors just moments later. On Friday morning, the bosses of state-owned France Télévisions, which controls France 2, offered their sincere apologies via a press release, citing an "error of judgment" which arose due to what was described as the event's "unique circumstances".

While some believe that broadcasters react too quickly in these situations, others don't think they're quick enough off the mark. These days, denouncing the media for their coverage of such tragedies has become a national French pastime, and has the added function of letting viewers absolve themselves of their own guilt for rubbernecking via the rolling news channels.

Whatever your take on it, the unsavoury images do seem to respond to a need on the part of certain viewers to "see it to believe it". To find out more, we got in touch with professor Arnaud Mercier, a sociologist and lecturer who specialises in media coverage of conflict and the role of social media in journalism.

VICE: What's your take on how the French rolling news channels covered the Nice attack?
Arnaud Mercier: Yesterday saw the sorts of kneejerk reaction journalists and producers have in this kind of situation. Their priority shifted to showing what was going on as it unfolded, even though they got some flak for not pulling the plug on the coverage of the Bastille Day fireworks in Paris soon enough. There was a powerful contrast between the images of those televised celebrations and the gravity of the Nice attack, as relayed on social media.

Then the channels got caught up in broadcasting images lifted from those social networks on a loop, which is a salient feature of the way such coverage happens these days. If you're not there as a journalist, all you have to rely on to illustrate your stories are pictures inevitably posted online by eyewitnesses. That said, the channels proceeded with more care than usual this time around and were careful around how they phrased things. For example, they waited quite some time before naming the perpetrator. Clearly the warnings issued by the CSA have been largely heeded.

Don't the public have a tendency to mistrust these "breaking news" broadcasts?
Yes – it's a difficult situation. If we use social networks as a barometer of public opinion, there are always critical messages posted on there regarding news channels, regardless of the level of coverage. One day people will say that the broadcasters reacted too quickly, the next that they were too slow. At the same time, these sorts of criticisms prove that the public have high expectations when it comes to the media. Some viewers are disappointed that they have to find out about an event like what happened in Nice via mobile alerts or social networks rather than a news flash. For something that serious, their reflex is still to go to a traditional outlet.

So these TV channels are essential for keeping people in the loop?
Of course! People aren't voyeurs, they just need to see something in order to comprehend it. In situations like what happened in Nice, it's not just about getting the latest info – people are also reacting emotionally, too. Looking at images to better grasp what has happened is essential to this, and psychologically it helps you process what has happened.

Is that why people watch these sorts of channels?
It's a type of compulsion really, because these attacks are illogical and improbable to us. Why on earth would someone voluntarily drive a lorry into a crowd to kill as many people as possible? We can't conceive of it. It was the same thing with 9/11. Even after seeing the clip of the twin towers crumbling three times, you couldn't quite believe it. In order to accept that it was real you would need to see it over and over again.

Does our inability to process the tragedy also explain why news channels quiz victims and witnesses live from the scene?
When it comes to breaking such events for us then yes, that would follow. Arguably it's not good for the witnesses themselves to be recounting what they've seen just moments earlier, but you have to remember that for every person who is willing to come on camera there are probably three others who refused. These people are often in shock, but that's always the risk you take with live programming. The real issues arise when these people are asked questions which aren't relevant to them, for example to offer an analysis rather than an account, even though they're no expert on terrorism.

At what point does it tip over into overexposure?
That's a real problem for the sorts of special programmes that interrupt the schedules for hours on end. Journalists are almost held prisoner by this trend for taking over the airwaves. Obviously there's a lot of filler material and repetition, too.

As for the rolling news channels, their defence is that they allow you to catch up on the latest news at any given point. In any case, in order to avoid becoming overwhelmed, the responsibility first lies with the viewer. When he or she is feeling oversaturated, it's their responsibility to turn off the TV. Everyone has their part to play, though: the viewer needs to know when to stop watching but the channels should avoid showing shocking images under the pretext that they're keeping people up to date. Even so, it's important to note that the images shared on social media last night were in many cases more shocking than those broadcast on TV.

What's the relationship between the rolling news channels and social networks?
Social media is a resource for these channels on a day to day basis, and even more so when crisis hits. They're mined for witnesses, pictures and sometimes videos. There's also a sense of solidarity online to tap into, with the media relaying hashtags (e.g.: #portesouvertesnice and #PrayforNice). Some people might see it as hacks trying to redeem a sense of conscience, but it's important to remember that they in turn highlight appeals for the missing. The media acts as an echo chamber for these call outs.

An act of terrorism throws the spotlight on the media's attitudes, and they way in which the industry helps to perpetuate a permanent culture of fear

Many people criticise the cynical nature of these news channels, saying that they profit off the back of tragedy. What do you make of this?
That's the opposite of what channels are doing when they broadcast special programmes instead of their scheduled shows. In fact, they lose out on advertising revenue while spending more on additional coverage. In the 24 hours following an event like Nice, these channels are losing money.

Thereafter, it's true that the demand for information increases, but that can be said for all forms of media. A cynic might argue that it's been a great day for the newspaper Nice Matin – they're unlikely to have sold this many copies in quite some time. Equally, many companies were unwilling to be featured alongside such a tragedy so withdrew their advertisements.

As for the channels, it's more of a question of credibility: those who don't know how best to cover these events have a lot to lose, while those who distinguish themselves from the pack will likely be seen as reliable sources. They need to win the viewers' trust, which is a battle in itself.

Is an event of this sort the right time to have a debate on media coverage? Should the news channels alter their approach?
They've already done just that. After the last wave of attacks, the CSA took a number of stations to task – not just the rolling news ones, either. It's becoming increasingly common for the mainstream channels to put the brakes on their schedules and switch to rolling coverage when these sorts of things happen, so the criticisms weren't just directed at 24-hour broadcasters. Unplanned coverage across the board has meant that some journalists have had to issue a mea culpa now and again. That's proof that the profession is capable of holding itself to account. The most important thing for these organisations to do is to take a step backwards, assess themselves critically and look to the future, because unfortunately it's not going to be the last time these sorts of questions arise.

An act of terrorism throws the spotlight on the media's attitudes, and they way in which the industry helps to perpetuate a permanent culture of fear. Terrorism without media coverage would be nowhere near as effective. That absolutely doesn't mean that we shouldn't be reporting on these attacks, but that we need to mindful of the way in which we do so, rather than simply relaying populist, racist or xenophobic opinions which seem to quickly rise up in the wake of terrorism. There must be a sense of responsibility from the industry.

I see. Thanks a lot, Mr Mercier.

All photos by Mickey Osterreicher/ESPN

This article originally appeared on VICE UK

It's a story so absurd that, more than 20 years later, it still doesn't seem real. OJ Simpson, sitting in prison for 33 years on kidnapping and robbery charges but acquitted of the murder of his ex-wife Nicole Brown and her friend, waiter Ron Goldman. OJ, swooping from the heights of sports and film stardom to incarceration. The closest imaginary parallel to Simpson's incredible rise and fall would be... I don't know, David Beckham being accused of killing two people, then later going to prison for a completely different crime altogether.

Most of us know Simpson's story. The televised trial was broadcast around the world, after all, rendering the idea of revisiting the story today even sillier. With that much live footage of the so-called "trial of the century" – from the prosecution's disastrous bid to have Simpson try on the gloves worn during the double murder to cross-examination focused more on LAPD detective Mark Fuhrman's history of calling black people niggers than the crime scene's DNA evidence – it seems there's nothing left to say.

But that changes when you watch OJ: Made in America, a new five-part TV documentary that digs into Simpson's personal narrative and pulls out a fascinating, universal tale. This thing is about eight hours long, but rattles through at a pace that marks it out as a remarkable piece of storytelling. Made In America not only catalogues Simpson's life but how his trial encapsulated so much about American society. Director-producer Ezra Edelman tackles race, violence, power and the cult of celebrity, sitting down to interview everyone from Simpson's friends and two jurors from the murder case to the lawyers tasked with getting Simpson off and family members of both Nicole Brown and Ron Goldman.

Edelman's films were shown on BT Sport this past week and will be broadcast on BT Sport ESPN next week, so will probably be seen by about 50,000 people – a shame, really. The five parts tell a masterful story of police brutality, racial inequality and an athlete at the centre of it all who thought he could transcend race until the day his encounter with the criminal justice system made him a figurehead for the African American community. What the show does so well is fill in the gaps of knowledge you didn't realise you had or would have cared about.

Part one introduces OJ as an incomparable young athlete; the best up-and-coming running back in university-level American football at the time. "He ran through them like foreign water through a tourist," says sociologist Dr Harry Edwards in the show, remembering the speed and agility of Simpson's breaks down the edge of the field. Edelman juxtaposes this rise to prominence in the 1960s with the civil rights movement that Simpson seemed to so gleefully ignore. "I'm not black, I'm OJ" he was once quoted as saying, in a statement that's been repeated ever since and sets up the story to come.

You start off learning of the horrors of police brutality against LA's black population at the time, with tensions coming to a head at the 1965 Watts riots in part two. This, Edelman tells me, was a very specific springboard. "The parallels of OJ going to USC about a year or so after those riots, that's where I started," he says, speaking from New York. "Insofar as I was going to explain the relationship between the black community and LAPD that led us to the Watts riots, I was going to explain OJ's first 18 to 20 years of life in San Francisco. But I really used that 1965 date as a jumping off point."

Only in part three do we get to the murders, by way of Simpson leaving his first wife Marguerite – a black woman whom Edelman never tracked down to interview – for Nicole Brown. By the time we've whizzed through jury selection, then into the criminal trial and eventual acquittal in part four, you could almost forget that you're watching a man teetering on the edge of his downfall. The best is saved for last, in part five. We see OJ's downward spiral in the years after he lost his civil trial to Goldman and Brown's families – to the tune of $33 million owed in damages – and before he ended up in Nevada's Lovelock Correctional Centre in 2008 for his part in a confused armed robbery in a Vegas hotel.

Edelman manages to fit about seven different mini-documentaries into one factual show without losing his central focus. By the time you're walked through OJ's history of physically abusing Nicole, and the eight times she called police officers to their house before asking not to press charges against OJ, the stage is set. Besides a few minor revelations – that Simpson's father had sex with men, for example, and OJ later harboured a homophobic rage only unlocked when he'd find his children or partner around gay men – most of the story is in the public domain. And just months ago, Ryan Murphy's American Crime Story: the People vs OJ Simpson – which Edelman originally thought might "use up the OJ capital" – was broadcast on both US and UK television. But rather than exhaust the subject, that program seems only to lay a foundation for Made in America.

Ultimately, Simpson's unknowable character, his slippery personality, is what makes this story so compelling. He's so many people at once: a hero, a father, a cheating husband, the family-friendly face of the Hertz ads, star of an awful post-acquittal prank show. To many, a murderer. To the jury that acquitted him, figurative payback for 1991's racial injustices, from the horrific beating of Rodney King to the execution of black teenager Latasha Rawlins by a Korean shopkeeper who was sentenced just to community service.

I put Simpson's strangely elusive nature to Edelman, asking how he'd come to understand the one key player he didn't get to interview. "I don't think I ever fell into a trap of thinking I could understand who he was," he says. "What I have to go on is the footage, and these first-person recollections from people who spent all this time around him. When I think about OJ I think you're correct, in that he's impossible to know."

Weirdly, you get the feeling that the story isn't over yet, when the films end. Yes, Simpson is in prison, but he's up for parole next year. And knowing his obsession with fame, with being loved, he may find his way back to our screens again. "It wouldn't surprise me if this story had more chapters," Edelman says. "He'll get out of jail sometime, and I'm sure there'll be a lot of interest surrounding that, with people wanting to hear from him for the first time in years. Nothing would surprise me, at this point, when it comes to OJ."

Follow Tshepo Mokoena on Twitter.

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This article originally appeared on VICE UK

The news recently has felt like a never-ending dumpster fire, renewed and fuelled by each week's fresh horrors. For people in the UK, what journalists usually term summer's "silly season" just hasn't happened. They had Brexit, Cameron's resignation, the scare of almost-Prime Minister Boris Johnson. Michael Gove thought he could lead the Tory party for about three days before unelected Theresa May strode into Number 10 as PM on Wednesday.

Globally, a ticker tape of massacres – from the Orlando LGBT club shooting to Boko Haram setting killing at least 18 women in north-eastern Nigeria and Thursday night's lorry attack in France – has seemed to fill our feeds. So many of these events feel like the sort that will end up in history books, ones that will shape people's memories of just where they were when they first heard each story. In light of trying to process it all, I've spoken to different people from around the UK, from adolescence to post-retirement age, to hear about the first major news story they remember living through.

Name: Gracei
Age: 16

The day of the London 7/7 bombings, I remember being in a classroom because it was a weekday. I must have been seven or eight. A teacher came into the room in a rush, and she was going, "it's been bombed, it's been bombed" and I thought, "what's she on about?" We all looked to our teacher to explain, and she told us there'd been a bombing on the Tube and people had been killed because some people called terrorists had attacked London. I thought, "oh my god, my mum got on the train this morning – what train did she get on?" and hoped she wasn't in London. I didn't really know how big of a deal it was though, because the teachers were trying not to panic us.

I remember going home and being so relieved to see my mum. By the next day I knew all my friends were okay, but I kept hearing stories about people who had been blown up or seriously hurt, and I remember seeing all the scarring pictures of death. I understand the full extent of it now, but at the time my mum was the only thing on my mind. Once I realised she was fine, I moved on because that's just what kids do. When these sorts of things happen now, I find myself thinking back to that day and imagining all the different ways the whole thing could have played out.

Name: Aisha
Age: 25

Hands down, the first thing I remember is Princess Diana's death. I was eight, and at my aunt's house with my cousins while my aunt made us food. She put the TV on to entertain us and Princess Diana was all over it. It was such a weird feeling because I just burst into tears; I was completely inconsolable. I think it was the first time I really understood the finality of death, which is why it hit me so hard.

Diana had visited a school near the estate where I grew up in north London not long before that, and I remember the crowd absolutely loved her. When she died, I couldn't shake the feeling that it was so sad to know a lovely person had gone. And then I started thinking about how it was so awful that she had sons, which made me think about my mother, and so I just burst into tears. It was almost like a relief to cry actually, because at that age you have very little understanding of death and the only way you can understand it is if you relate it back to your life in some way.

It was all so sudden – there was no time where we knew she was going to die, it just happened. She was dead and that was it. The emotions are still really clear in my mind, even though I never directly interacted with Diana, and I do feel the same about it now as I did then. There will always be that bit of sorrow in me.

Name: Peter
Age: 30

I know I should remember something earlier but I was honestly the biggest stoner in my early teens so a lot of stuff has been wiped from my brain. But at around 16 I remember going to bed one night and everything being fine, then waking up early the next morning to find my dad up – that was strange, because he loved a good lie-in. When I went to ask him something, he seemed really sad and told me the Queen Mother had died.

I didn't really get what the big deal was, but he told me he'd been up the whole night watching the BBC news reports. It was the first time I'd seen my dad genuinely upset. He'd been crying – and to put that in perspective, the only other time I've seen him like that was when my uncle died. We watched the telly together for the rest of the day.

When I think about it now, in a weird way I almost feel glad that I could be alive at that point, because it felt like this huge, defining moment in history that changed the world. I feel like the news is a lot worse these days. It's not just old people dying. I don't know if I didn't pay attention to it back then, but it definitely feels like there's more horrible stuff happening. In a way, it's nice to be able to remember what it was like before.

Name: Sonia
Age: 58

I remember hearing about President Kennedy dying, and that thought has always stuck in my mind because he was assassinated and it was so sad for everybody. The whole of the UK was in mourning when it happened, out of solidarity for America. I think I was around eight years old when he died, and it made me feel sad because they kept cutting to his children, who were around my age. The fact that he died in a bulletproof, open-backed car kept playing over and over again.

My whole family was sat around the TV in the front room when it happened, because we couldn't afford to heat more than one room. In those times we only had two channels, BBC1 and ITV, so it dominated the news and there was nothing else for us to watch on the telly.

My parents just kept saying that he was a nice man – he liked black people, that's what my mum said, and she told me he was very friendly. Everybody liked him, and I think in their eyes, he worked hard to make people happy. After all these years I still feel the same about it, and it will always be in my brain. I didn't know much about him, but to me he was like royalty; his kids would always be wearing trousers and long socks and those coats Prince William and Prince Harry used to wear. It's an odd detail, but I'll never forget it, and it will always make me sad.

Name: Richard
Age: 74

The first news story I remember living through is post-war soap rationing in the early 1950s. My mum was overjoyed by it all because that was one of the things she'd hated the most about the war; having three dirty boys because there wasn't enough soap to go around. I was happy it was over mostly, even though a few things were still rationed at that point. I didn't realise it at the time because post-war England was all I knew, but it was almost the end of everything feeling grey, and the point when we started to rebuild everything we'd lost.

So it was good in that sense, but I actually hated the end of soap rationing because I liked being dirty. Playing in the dirt outside was one of my favourite pastimes because I got a kick out of annoying my mother. My home was that house you have on every street where everyone likes to play at after school, and when I found out about the end of soap rationing I was outside doing just that with all my friends.

My mum shouted at me to come in because she'd already picked up a bar of soap, so she pulled me away and scrubbed me clean. I despised that, but there was also an exciting element to the end of rationing – I started to realise things existed that I'd never seen before. Most of the children my age had never seen a banana because we were so used to wartime restrictions – so I always associate bananas with soap and the end of everything being grim.

I thought about those times a lot when I was in my thirties or so, but I've mostly made peace with it now. Making the shift to capitalism again was very bizarre as someone born a couple of years before the war began, and I think I'll carry that sense of wanting to scrimp and save for the rest of my life.

Some of the names in this article have been changed to suit the person's low-key lifestyle.

@YasminAJeffery / @alexgamsujenkins

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For 16 years, Vyckie Garrison subscribed to the hardcore fundamentalist (and 19 Kids And Counting) ethos of "Quiverfull." It's based on an Old Testament passage; "As arrows are in the hand of a mighty man; so are children of the youth. Happy is the man that hath his quiver full of them."

This translates, apparently, into having children until the Lord closes your womb.

As a conservative patriarchal movement, birth control is forbidden. Quiverfull also condones the "headship" of husbands, the submission of wives, homeschooling, and a belief in the Bible as the literal and inerrant Word of God. With no central charismatic leader, it isn't a cult per se, says Garrison, but rather a mindset, "in which each family becomes a cult unto itself with Daddy enshrined as the supreme Patriarch."

Garrison adhered strictly to the faith; homeschooling, kowtowing to her husband, dressing modestly, editing a pro-life newspaper, and procreating until her uterus basically shut down. Her family was even awarded Nebraska's Family of the Year in 2003.

Then, she took her seven children, and left.

She founded No Longer Quivering, and now spends her time helping other women escape the movement. VICE spoke with her to find out how a devoted fundie housewife becomes Atheist of the Year.

Photo courtesy of Vyckie Garrison

VICE: Were you raised Quiverfull?
Vyckie Garrison: I was raised in this unstable situation. My mom had all these boyfriends in and out, and we moved around so much. She was spiritual but not religious—into a lot of new age stuff, witchcraft, Ouija. I got married at 16. I wanted to get away from my mom's house. I got saved at 17 listening to Christian radio. I had my first kid with . Then I made it to Iowa to get away from him. That's where I met my second husband, and had six kids with him. He was a Baptist. We met at a church picnic. He really loved Jesus and wanted to do whatever was right and biblical.

When did you first encounter this sect?
My daughter was really brilliant and because she was born late in the year it was too early to start kindergarten and she already knew how to read. I thought, What am I going to do to keep her challenged? I was convinced by our pastor's wife to homeschool. I came across the materials at a homeschool convention.

Was your second husband raised Quiverfull?
He had those tendencies anyway, but the patriarchal ideas found in Quiverfull give biblical weight to it. They can sound like this is like something God actually wants you to do. If you feel like one day you're going to stand before God and give an account—not just for your own life but for your wife and children—that makes you feel that you have this major responsibility. It really messed him up.

If I wouldn't have been a Christian and had that whole "God hates divorce" thing in my head, I probably would have realized early on that we were not compatible. But because I was stuck, then I started scrambling for how can we make this work: That's when I came across all the marriage and family materials. It's this headspace that you're in: where you believe that God has a perfect plan for families, and that plan is spelled out in the Bible. Once you get into that extreme fundamentalist mindset, that's what Quiverfull is. You know that you can't change your husband, so what can you do? If you can't change him, then if you can influence the God who CAN change him—then it's this kind of roundabout manipulation. It's very passive-aggressive.

Photo via Flickr user david__jones

What did your marriage look like before Quiverfull?
When I was in school I had a 4.0 average, I loved studying. When we first got married, he really liked the kids—taking them to the park, playing with them, so we were like, OK you do the kid thing and I'll get my degree and make the money. We started out complementing each other—I'd make up for his weaknesses and he'd make up for mine.

Then we got into the teaching that the husband is supposed to be the head, the leader. The wife is supposed to be at home with her children, managing her family and taking care of her husband. So then I had to quit school. With all the pregnancies, I couldn't keep up with it anyways. So when I had to stay home, I started a family newspaper—The Nebraska Family Times—and named him president, so even though I was working I could say I was a housewife, or whatever. He did sales and distribution and was pretty good at that. But it was my business. We had to find a way to support a growing family, with his disability (he's legally blind) and still have some income. I was also supporting the family, but couldn't actually say I am a "working woman."

When did you start to see red flags?
My health was going down the tubes. Having all the babies that I had, with surgical problems, it actually made it a life-threatening condition for me. After a while my body was just wearing down. Plus I've got this bone condition that three of my daughters inherited so they're having to have treatments—a nine-hour drive each way, several times a year. Physically, it was draining. Emotionally, my husband had become such a tyrant. At some point it crossed the line to abuse.

When did you start to get fed up?
You're knocking yourself out for an ideal and the kids just are not thriving. They weren't doing good educationally, socially, they were not happy. All of it. I thought, something isn't adding up here, because I'm doing everything here, literally, by the book.

What was your first step in walking away?
I met my uncle—who I had never known. Before we made that trip my dad warned me about my uncle, that he's not a Christian, he's going to try to confuse . I was insulted—I was the most devoted Christian! There was no way I was going to have the slightest inkling of doubt.

When I met him, he was a nice guy—not like, trying to save me from delusion. I tried to explain to him why I'm doing what I'm doing and why we're living where we're living—without reference to the bible, because he didn't accept that as any kind of authority.

I didn't shut my brain off when I became a Christian, I confined it. Eventually I realized I didn't believe enough of the bible and Christianity to really call myself a Christian anymore. Which was kind of a scary position to be in because I had built every detail in my life around Jesus.

When did you start pulling away?
It was 2007-08. I was 42. My husband had become such a tyrant. I started standing up to him here and there. He flipped out. He decided to take the six kids (who were still at home) to his family so I could have a "little break." They all decided that the real problem was that I wasn't being submissive enough.

How did your kids react to your fall from grace?
I went and picked up my kids and I hadn't seen them in about six weeks. During that time (before getting custody) these people were telling my kids that I'm going to hell, that I'm deceived by Satan, that I was being horrible to their dad. I picked them up and not only did they have all that attitude because their heads had been filled with all this crap—they also were so sick. Sicker than they had ever been. Every one of them had pneumonia, my one daughter had MRSA. They just did not take care of my kids. I was so run down in my own health of course I caught it right away. For about two weeks we were dragging, just surviving. There were little jabs here and there but we didn't have a lot of energy for conversation. My oldest one at the time, who was still home, said "Why do you have to be so mean to dad? That's just the way he is." But by the end of the two weeks, we all started to feel better. I didn't like talking a whole bunch about religion. They were super quick to drop it. A few of them were atheists right away.

Was it hard to eschew the Quiverfull mindset after being in it so long?
It turned out to be really easy to just change the way I thought. I didn't believe any more. I had mental freedom. I scrambled at first, thinking, you know, I've built my whole life on this. What can I salvage out of this? But once you get rid of the basic part, the rest is all bullshit.

What is your biggest regret?
I was willing to be a martyr to sacrifice my life for Jesus, because it was such a conviction for me—I was so wholeheartedly into it—I thought nothing of risking my life. But I didn't even think about my kids' feelings about it. I made martyrs of them too. It's one thing if I make that choice for me, but it was not right for me to make that choice for them. They lost that part of their life, and they can't get that back. I regret that, deeply.

How did you feel after your un-conversion?
I'd heard about atheists, how sad they were, how depressed they were because they didn't have a purpose in life. Jesus was my whole purpose for living but all of a sudden I didn't believe in him. I was waiting for the day where I would get so depressed. But my youngest was four at the time and they just expect mom to just get up and keep being mom, which I did. I started getting things back on track. I put my kids in school, started being just normal people. We did a Harry Potter marathon.

About six months later I was at the mall with my kids doing school shopping. We were having a great time, laughing, joking, very relaxed. It took me about 40 minutes before I realized; I know what that is—that's energy. It felt foreign to me. I was actually happy. I started being able to just live and enjoy myself. Make choices, let my kids make choices. I enjoy my kids much more now than I ever did when I had to control every little aspect and be concerned about eternal consequences of every little thing that they did. Now if they screw up, it's not life-altering or soul-crushing. Experiencing what I did—it makes me appreciate it that much more.

Why does this mindset appeal to people?
They don't know any better. They haven't encountered better ideas to counter it. I feel like Christianity is becoming polarized. The mainstream is so indefensible, so they either become liberal, and don't take everything chapter and verse, or they dig in and become extremists.

Why do women join this movement?
I tell people that Quiverfull is a women's movement. Which sounds really weird—you think that it would be men. But so many times, it's the woman who drags the husband into it. She's the one that goes to the homeschool convention, she's the one that encounters the materials. And most of the time, she's married to a loser, thinking, "I'm going to get him to buck up, and contribute, and help the family, be a decent father." I've never seen Quiverfull take off in a family where they already have a healthy relationship. If you have a good marriage and you present the couple with idea of Quiverfull, those men are going to be like, "I don't think so. I want a partner."

How does it benefit men?
All of a sudden they've got this "helpmeet" that's devoted to make their life perfect. But in other ways, it infantilizes. It enables all of their worst tendencies. It's like they never have to grow up, never have to take any responsibility. You can make this guy that could potentially be a functioning adult and turn them into this catered toddler. It becomes a major power imbalance. But also, it's very convoluted. There is a lot of power in a woman's submission.

How does it affect the kids?
All of a sudden they're locked into these very strict gender roles and expectations. The boys are going to be manly men, and the girls are going to be virtuous ladies. Every decision about their life is already spelled out. Educationally they suffer. Especially when you've got half a dozen kids, you're not going to be able to afford to send them all to college. Their world is so limited.

Do the women who leave struggle with shaking the mindset?
You would think with fundamentalists—because it's an all-consuming vision that affects every part of your thinking—you'd think that they would be the hardest ones to convince. It's not like we try to talk them out of it. But it's pretty similar with a lot of them. We do end up with a high percentage of people that just drop the whole thing. It's like a house of cards, you know? You get rid of that foundation—that the Bible is the inerrant, living word of God—and then what's left?

What's the most troubling aspect of the movement?
The thing that really disturbs me is the whole emphasis on the daddy-daughter thing. The purity pledges, father daughter banquets—your heart is supposed to be daddy's until he gives you away to your husband. A lot of times, especially with the older daughters, the moms are so busy having babies, and are so drug out trying to keep up with the homeschooling and the homesteading and everything else that they're doing—and the dads end up turning to the older daughters for that emotional connection and it's not healthy.I would say it borders on emotional incest.

What do you tell the women who feel stuck?
I say know the reason you're doing this—it's for your children. You want to give them the very best life—how is that working out? Look at your kids—are they happy? Are they thriving? What you're knocking yourself out for—is it worth it? The reason they got into it, is the reason that gets them out of it too. It is hard when you realize you're going to have to change everything. By that time, most of these women have very controlling abusive husband, half a dozen or more kids, they haven't worked in decades, they don't have any higher education. It is a challenge—to get your kids and escape from that kind of thing. You have to completely change your life around. It's extremely difficult to get out. But these women have been doing the impossible for decades. They are living a lifestyle that nobody would choose. It's almost like a release because you've already been doing something that can't really be done—creating perfection in your own home. These women are so strong, so courageous, they are resourceful. They will find a way, and they do.

Follow Tiffy Thompson on Twitter.

(Photo by Alan Stanton via)

This article originally appeared on VICE UK

Bad news if you aren't a fan of Turkey's president Recep Tayyip Erdogan. On Friday night, an attempted coup took place in Ankara after a military faction tried to overthrow him. Things looked shaky by about midnight on Saturday.

It's not hard to see why Erdogan can be so unpopular with some. In Turkey, he's considered an opposing force to the PKK's independence movement for the Kurdish population. He also isn't exactly known for his track record on women's reproductive rights.

Since Friday night, though, Erdogan's managed to seize back power after troops surrendered. In the aftermath of the coup attempt at least 181 people have now been reportedly killed, 1,100 injured and 2,800 people have now been arrested and could face the death penalty. With the country plunged into uncertainty, I went around London to ask some Turkish residents in the UK how they feel about all the events that have unfolded.

Name: Berrak
Age: 35
Location: Harringey, north London

I was shocked when I saw the coup in TV. It's almost like a play. So many people died, it just wasn't worth it. It's sad. I'd be scared to go to Turkey. I was supposed to go on holiday this summer for two weeks but I changed my mind last night. Just because it's stopped today, doesn't mean it's not going to tomorrow or next month. It's a shame for the tourist industry.

We need a stronger president. I don't like him. He's making the country fight, but he won't send his own sons to the army. He wants the army and Kurdish people to fight against each other and when the military comes down and takes over the country, now he's telling the police to kill them which doesn't make sense.

Erdogan told everyone to come out and fight the army. Why didn't he come out himself? If you want your country to come out for you, why don't you come yourself? You're putting loads of people at risk but you wouldn't put your own kids at risk. It makes me so angry.

Name: Sadiq
Age: 42
Location: Camden, northwest London

The military are idiots, they're complete idiots, for trying the coup. They must be hanged immediately, all of them, without any delay. It's against our nation, against our Prime Minister. This is against the Turkish nation, against the whole country. The result for the military is going to be terrible. I'm more than happy they lost. It cost a lot of lives. As it didn't succeed, they've paid the penalty by death. I don't want this to happen again.

Name: Ceng
Age: 23
Location: Harringey, north London

The whole coup is a game. He just wants to get control of the military, that's just what he wants, isn't it? When I first saw it on the news, I was actually happy. I thought the government was going down. Then I found out it was a game because you can't do it with 200 soldiers, can you? You need like thousands of soldiers.

I hate Erdogan. Everyone hates him, especially in Harringey. Two years ago, he said that people that protested against him were terrorists. But do you know what he did yesterday? He told people to come out! Like, come on. I'd love a new president, but not from the AKP, that's for sure. I'm not scared to return to Turkey. I'm going again in August. But if it happened again, I wouldn't come out of the house. I heard that yesterday in a mosque they were telling people to get out on the streets for jihad – are you joking? In Turkey? I think it's America that's keeping Erdogan . It's all America, 100 percent.

Name: Assam
Age: 35
Location: Camden, northwest London

I'm more worried about my brother, who's in Turkey now. He's the owner of this shop! My mum's unwell so I'm scared about how he's going to get back, really.

Last night was like a Hollywood film. I think the government was panicking. This isn't the first time it's happened. I think Erdogan should resign. He's rubbish. He's not a president. We need a new one. If you don't listen to him, if you don't follow his ideology, he'll just sack you.

I miss Turkey but I don't like the government. Look at Cameron, he made one political mistake is against Islam ... it's Muslims fighting Muslims, Muslims killing Muslims. It's quite scary really.

Name: Ali
Age: 35
Location: Harringey, north London

I feel really embarrassed about last night's events, really sad. So many people died, civilians and soldiers. Erdogan just wants more power. He's power-hungry. I think the whole thing is undemocratic. I'm so sorry for those that died. It's ironic that they stopped for breaks in between to pray.

I did expect the coup to fail. You can't do a coup in the night time. If you were going to do a proper coup, you do it at like 5AM, not in the evening. It's ridiculous. I'm scared about the future of our country. When I see things like this happening, it's heartbreaking. I'm an asylum seeker but I feel safer here in Britain. At least I can sleep well at night.

@its_me_salma

More about the coup attempt from VICE News:

A Timeline to Help You Understand What Happened Last Night in Turkey