Police and prosecutors had a problem last spring. A small gaggle of young white liberals who support the Black community went on a minor rampage one night in October in downtown Phoenix, daring to knock over construction signs as they chanted "Black Lives Matter" and "All Cops Are Bastards" (ACAB). Dressed in black, they used umbrellas to shield themselves from rubber bullets and police cameras. The problem for police was that they couldn't think of enough to charge these folks with. So they came up with a brilliant plan: They gave them a name (the ACAB Gang) and hit them with enhanced charges for being a criminal street gang. The authorities were thrilled with themselves and levied the criminal charges against the "gang members." But when local activists, Democratic leaders, and the news media found out how they had concocted the case for the grand jury, outrage followed. The prosecutor's office soon moved to dismiss the charges "in the interest of justice." The blowback continues in the form of civil lawsuits by the protesters.
The race for Maricopa County Attorney in 2020 was a tough fight between two capable, smart women. In the wake of the George Floyd murder and its aftermath, Republican Allister Adel was running neck-and-neck with progressive Democrat Julie Gunnigle. Then came Election Night. Would Gunnigle overcome the county's advantage in Republican voters and be swept to victory by the defund-the-police crowd? Tensions were high. The first votes were counted. Gunnigle was ahead. But then the story of this election went from being damned interesting to something worthy of a Netflix movie: Adel was suddenly rushed to the hospital with bleeding in the brain. After that, more votes were counted and Adel took the lead. Days passed, and her lead increased. A week later, Gunnigle conceded. But there was still no word from Adel. Had she become the first female county attorney in the county's history, only to be unable to serve? Nope, she took office — although she recently stepped back for several weeks to address alcohol abuse and eating disorder issues.
Dressed like a schoolgirl, the senior U.S. senator from our state cast her vote on a bill to raise the minimum wage to $15: NO. As she did, she dropped a quick curtsy and a dramatic thumbs down, like a Roman emperor calling for a gladiator to be executed. With that careless gesture and thumb, the lives of everyday Americans became harder, and millions of dreams deflated like popped balloons. The gesture marked the beginning of the end of Arizona's Sinema honeymoon. She has vexed her Senate colleagues and fallen far behind Mark Kelly in approval polls. Another term? Doubtful.
On January 6, 2021, a day that will long live in infamy, an actual guillotine appeared outside the Arizona State Capitol, blade ready to slice. The guillotine sported a Donald Trump flag, and the group that lugged it out to the public lawn claimed to be protesting in support of the impeached president (who after his January 6 actions would soon be impeached again). These "protesters" refused to share their names with reporters. They made vague, belligerent statements, claiming to "not fear war." Who would have thought that in a year of abject plague and record heat that the most "yikes" moment would be this?
Of the thousands of Trump supporters, Proud Boys, white supremacists, and hopeful insurgents who stormed the U.S. Capitol on January 6, the most singularly memorable one is from Arizona. Go figure. Jacob Chansley, a 2005 graduate of Moon Valley High School, was at the Capitol in his guise as QAnon shaman Jake Angeli, dressed spectacularly in a fur hat with horns, Fourth of July makeup on his face, and nothing but tattoos on his bare chest. Holding an American flag attached to a long spear, he was recorded walking through the Capitol with other rioters, clenching a fist behind the Speaker's desk, and sitting in Mike Pence's chair, where he wrote a note to the vice president that said, "ITS ONLY A MATTER OF TIME / JUSTICE IS COMING." Back in Phoenix three days later, Chansley turned himself in upon learning the FBI was looking for him in its hunt for other protester-insurgents. Phoenix reporters already knew him from local right-wing protests: He was a 33-year-old wanna-be actor who lived with his mom in Glendale after falling behind on rent at his own apartment (the same mom who complained on his behalf when he wasn't getting enough organic food in jail). In early September, Chansley pleaded guilty to obstructing a civil proceeding, and his sentencing is tentatively scheduled for November. Maybe federal prison will be able to keep up with his dietary requirements.
This year, Republican cynicism or outright delusion about Trump's failure to win the presidential election centered on Arizona, to a large extent, in one of the strangest ballot audits ever seen in modern politics. The Arizona Senate, led by Karen Fann and egged on by powerful state Republicans including the party's state chair, Kelli Ward, ordered the Maricopa County Board of Supervisors to turn over all 2.1 million ballots cast in the county for the November 2020 election. The senate then hired an unknown Florida company, Cyber Ninjas, run by a Trump supporter, to conduct the audit. Earnest volunteers allegedly audited the ballots as they were placed on spinning lazy Susans, looking for irregularities including whether traces of bamboo might be present in the ballots, in case fake ballots were smuggled in from Asia. As of press time, the results of the count still haven't been released. But experts point out that for the audit to continue for so long without actual proof of fraud, combined with efforts by Republicans in other states to undermine the 2020 election, could destroy trust in elections. As disinformation spreads and voters can't agree on basic facts, some fret that American democracy is in decline. When it all falls apart, you can thank Arizona.
Arizona was one of the most important states in the 2020 presidential election, with its 11 electoral college votes hanging in the balance. Trump was counting on another Electoral College victory and needed most of his key states — including Arizona — to come through for him. Then came an election call that no one, least of all President Trump, had expected. Arizona was going Biden. For Biden supporters, especially those in Arizona, this was a magical and unexpected event. Even faithful Democrats found it slightly unbelievable, given that hundreds of thousands of votes remained to be counted. But in the end, Fox News was right. So, naturally, it fired its political editor, Chris Stirewalt, who correctly projected Arizona's win.
Celine and Kevin Rille put the "co" in co-working — their space is comfortable, collegial, and most of all, it's about community. These two didn't just buy a building, throw up walls, and start collecting rent. Instead, they treat this club like family — and that's what it feels like in all the best ways. The word is out, too; the Rilles recently expanded to the building next door. From the rosé on tap, jars of snacks, and regular happy hours (during non-pandemic times) to the gorgeous work and community spaces, weekly yoga, and convivial atmosphere, this is the place to see, be seen, and co-work.
Short Creek, a community of current and former members of the Fundamentalist Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, is only about a six-hour drive from Phoenix, but philosophically, it may as well be on another planet. So we're grateful to Utah journalist Ash Sanders and Arizona's own Sarah Ventre for giving us an inside look at that remote, insular world through their 10-part podcast, Unfinished: Short Creek, from Witness Docs and Critical Frequency. The pair spent years reporting on the community before debuting the series in fall 2020. Through unbiased reporting of their own and the voices of dozens of members of the community, Sanders and Ventre teach listeners about a part of Arizona culture that is often sensationalized but rarely understood. It's no wonder that it gained national acclaim, including making The Atlantic and The New Yorker's lists of best podcasts of 2020.
Peter Corbett has a travel website, ontheroadarizona.com, that's worth checking out. But because we're addicted to social media, we usually encounter the former Arizona newspaperman on Twitter, where Corbett regularly posts highlights from his adventures exploring the small towns, historic sites, and extravagant scenery our state has to offer. You'll see a Lake Powell sunrise overlooking Wahweap Marina on the Arizona-Utah border. You'll learn that two former Phoenix cops opened Alpine Pizza in Flagstaff in 1973. You'll discover that Apache Junction was once home to the Apacheland Movie Ranch, a western town built circa 1960 that later burned down. If you're interested in Arizona, past or present, Corbett's a must-follow.