It is the norm in Utah. Yes, we designate highways as veterans' memorials; yes, redeploying soldiers get 30 seconds on the 10 o'clock news; and yes, national defense and F-35s are as dear to our wingnuts as states' rights and Browning .45s. But don't look for Utahns to have much skin in the game. Utah has the lowest military-enlistment rates in the country. We are, however, blessed with an abundance of "chickenhawks," defined by Fallows as those who are eager to go to war so long as someone else does the fighting. Utah is not the only state with chickenhawks aplenty, and as a result, the burden of fighting America's longest wars has been shouldered by less than 1 percent of the population—16 times less than the percentage during Vietnam.—Salt Lake City WeeklyThe Long View
In this era of seemingly never-ending police shootings, it is not uncommon to see communities galvanized along color lines and protests organized among citizens who disproportionately find themselves in the crosshairs of police-issued firearms. That phenomenon, however, was relatively unknown to Pacific Islander youth in Utah—until Angilau's death. Right or wrong, his example has now ignited a first in Utah: a Pacific Islander youth-advocacy group challenging the "school-to-prison pipeline" and educating community members about their rights when it comes to the law and those tasked with enforcing it.
The group has clamored for more information about Angilau's death—hoping to legally challenge the federal government's refusal to release video footage of the courtroom incident—but they've also held peaceful marches and contributed to food drives. In May, the coalition will be honored by the American Civil Liberties Union of Utah for community organizing. But, even as they organize, they still mourn. And they still await the sentencing of Siale's younger brother, Villisoni, who will be sentenced in May—on the same day as the ACLU award ceremony—after pleading guilty to a gang-related manslaughter.—Salt Lake City Weekly