The judge in Donald Trump’s New York criminal trial ruled on Friday that he won’t sentence the former president until November 26. Juan Merchan, who Trump has relentlessly accused of bias against him, wrote in his decision that the delay was “to avoid any appearance—however unwarranted—that the proceeding has been affected by or seeks to affect the approaching Presidential election in which the Defendant is a candidate.”

Merchan went on to add that he hopes the decision ends any concern about the impartiality of the court—Trump has repeatedly insisted that the entire prosecution, judge, and jury were rigged by the Biden administration, despite the case being heard in a New York court, not under federal jurisdiction.

“The Court is a fair, impartial and apolitical institution,” Merchan wrote.

The sentencing is for 34 felony convictions of falsifying business records for Trump’s hush money scandal involving adult film star Stormy Daniels, and was led by Manhattan District Attorney Alvin Bragg. Each charge carries up to a four-year prison sentence, but it was highly unlikely that Trump would receive a significant sentence—as a first time non-violent offender, probation was far likelier. However, any chance of a major presidential candidate—or president-elect—being required to serve jail time is completely unprecedented.

Trump has yet to respond to Merchan’s ruling, but the delay was at his own request. He has also submitted filings asking for the conviction to be tossed based on July’s Supreme Court decision on presidential immunity—according to Trump’s attorneys, testimony that was used against him that referred to events that occurred while he was president shouldn’t have been used. Merchan has yet to rule on that.

Prosecutors did not oppose Trump’s request to delay the sentencing, but throughout the trial—and the years-long legal process running up to it—Bragg’s attorneys argued that Trump was improperly trying to delay legal consequences against him.

Correction, September 6: This post has been updated to accurately reflect the number of Donald Trump’s felony convictions. There are 34.

The judge in Donald Trump’s New York criminal trial ruled on Friday that he won’t sentence the former president until November 26. Juan Merchan, who Trump has relentlessly accused of bias against him, wrote in his decision that the delay was “to avoid any appearance—however unwarranted—that the proceeding has been affected by or seeks to affect the approaching Presidential election in which the Defendant is a candidate.”

Merchan went on to add that he hopes the decision ends any concern about the impartiality of the court—Trump has repeatedly insisted that the entire prosecution, judge, and jury were rigged by the Biden administration, despite the case being heard in a New York court, not under federal jurisdiction.

“The Court is a fair, impartial and apolitical institution,” Merchan wrote.

The sentencing is for 34 felony convictions of falsifying business records for Trump’s hush money scandal involving adult film star Stormy Daniels, and was led by Manhattan District Attorney Alvin Bragg. Each charge carries up to a four-year prison sentence, but it was highly unlikely that Trump would receive a significant sentence—as a first time non-violent offender, probation was far likelier. However, any chance of a major presidential candidate—or president-elect—being required to serve jail time is completely unprecedented.

Trump has yet to respond to Merchan’s ruling, but the delay was at his own request. He has also submitted filings asking for the conviction to be tossed based on July’s Supreme Court decision on presidential immunity—according to Trump’s attorneys, testimony that was used against him that referred to events that occurred while he was president shouldn’t have been used. Merchan has yet to rule on that.

Prosecutors did not oppose Trump’s request to delay the sentencing, but throughout the trial—and the years-long legal process running up to it—Bragg’s attorneys argued that Trump was improperly trying to delay legal consequences against him.

Correction, September 6: This post has been updated to accurately reflect the number of Donald Trump’s felony convictions. There are 34.

Last week, Nassau County, on New York’s Long Island, became the first county in the US to ban the public wearing of masks—with very vague health exemptions—since the start of the Covid-19 pandemic. The Nassau ban follows a similarly controversial statewide mask ban in North Carolina that took effect in June.

Several concerns have been raised about Nassau’s mask ban, including that police officers—not experts in public health or medicine—are tasked with determining whether an individual is wearing a mask for valid health reasons. But another is that the pandemic is not over, and wearing medical masks while grocery shopping or even at a protest is meant to limit exposure to the disease—and some residents expect a ban to lead to harassment by local anti-maskers.

The county’s move has prompted the first class-action lawsuit against a mask ban, filed Thursday in federal district court by Disability Rights New York against Nassau County and county executive Bruce Blakeman on behalf of two anonymous residents.

“This mask ban poses a direct threat to public health and discriminates against people with disabilities,” said Timothy A. Clune, the group’s executive director, in a press release.

One of the residents, who lives with cerebral palsy and asthma, said they were stopped and questioned by other residents after the ban was passed—even before it was enacted—and, according to the complaint, now “fears that they will be arrested…because there is no standard for the police to follow to decide if they meet the health exception.”

The other resident represented in the complaint, who masks due to various immune conditions, the complaint says, is now “terrified to go into public wearing a mask.”

Both complainants say that masking has enabled them to participate in public life as disabled people during the ongoing pandemic. Disability Rights NY argues in the suit that the ban as written is unconstitutional, and violates both the Americans with Disabilities Act and Section 504 of the Rehabilitation Act, both key items of federal civil rights legislation, by denying disabled people access to their own communities.

“Local laws that abrogate or curtail rights conferred by federal law are…rendered invalid,” the complaint reads.

Given that Covid can itself disable people, Jason Cohen, a neurologist who lives in Nassau, has major concerns about how the mask ban will play out.

“I care for many patients who have brain fog from Covid and many more who are at higher risk of brain damage from Covid,” Cohen said. “Anything that discourages masking among those who want to mask is a travesty and public health disaster.”

Cohen also says that governments “should not force people to disclose their personal medical information to police in order to negotiate their way out of being accused of a crime.”

Some disabled people nevertheless have concerns about the suit itself. Ngozi, a Black disabled person who lives just over the county border in Queens, is concerned that it will end in “some type of negotiation with the state that results in keeping the law intact,” which would maintain the risk of racial profiling.

“I do not have faith in the state,” Ngozi said. “A lawsuit will not resolve the threat of mask bans anytime soon.”

Disability Rights New York is requesting a declaratory judgment that Nassau County’s mask ban violates federal law, as well as a restraining order. The complaint in its entirety can be read below.

In late April, New York Democratic Gov. Kathy Hochul and state lawmakers finalized a $233 billion budget for the next fiscal year. One item in its 144-page official summary has sparked fear among disability advocates: dramatic changes to a vital home health aid program that may push more people into nursing homes.

A quarter of a million New Yorkers currently use CDPAP, a widely popular program launched in 1995, which facilitates Medicaid funding for home carers chosen by patients themselves at hours they arrange. Participants spoke to Mother Jones about how the program allows them to remain in their communities, rather than being institutionalized—a cause central to disability rights activism. Without access to workers who understand their needs, like assisting people with spinal cord injuries with toileting, those participants risk hospitalization, placement in restrictive long-term care, or both.

The program is run through “fiscal intermediaries,” which provide financial and administrative oversight; some specialize in helping certain groups, such as the Bengali immigrant community. Hochul’s plan would make the program an administrative monopoly: by October, one middleman—potentially an out-of-state, for-profit firm—will hold a $40 billion contract covering all 250,000 participants in the state. Currently, those intermediaries are subject to oversight by New York’s chief fiscal officer; under Hochul’s system, the new middleman wouldn’t be. In late July, some current intermediaries sued New York’s Department of Health over the changes.

Hochul has been incredibly critical of CDPAP, calling it a “racket.”

“This was a backroom deal that happened days before the budget was finalized,” said Kendra Scalia, a disabled public policy analyst and board president of the Consumer Directed Personal Assistance Association of New York State, which supports both CDPAP providers and recipients. “It was never discussed with disabled communities.”

Hochul has been incredibly critical of CDPAP, calling it a “racket” and “one of the most abused programs in the entire history of the state of New York.” But 2022 audits by the state’s Medicaid Inspector General reviewed $37 million in claims—and found that 99 percent were accurate. Of $46,000 in documented overpayments, $41,000 was recollected. Hochul’s office did not respond to a request for evidence that the program has been abused.

It can already be difficult to get care through CDPAP. For Laura Mauldin, a graduate student when she applied in 2010, it took nine months—and an initial rejection—to get her partner, who had been sick with cancer for four years, approved for support.

“There was not an option to check for CDPAP” in home care applications at the time, said Mauldin. The request for around-the-clock care was eventually approved—allowing Mauldin to leave her apartment, with her partner in a worker’s care—but so late that Mauldin’s partner was only able to use it for three months before passing away.

Critics like Hochul see the potential for corruption in the fact that disabled people can hire family members—something Kendra Scalia first did by hiring her sister when she was in college.

“I felt really vulnerable to hiring strangers or welcoming strangers into my dorm room where there’s no oversight,” Scalia said. Her brother now has worked as her assistant for the past decade.

Some care workers feel they’ve been left in limbo on how Hochul’s changes will impact them. For the past 25 years, Tara Murphy has worked as a home care provider through CDPAP, after working as a certified nursing assistant in a nursing home. As a home carer, Murphy felt she’d be able to serve people better.

“I saw all the horrendous things and lack of care and neglect that were happening,” said Murphy, who is based in Troy, New York. “I knew I couldn’t change it, and I didn’t want to be part of the medical mafia.”

Now, Murphy is panicked over the impending changes to the program that helps employ her. She doesn’t know whether she’d be hired under the new monopoly, or whether her pay will be cut. “I’m sitting here every day,” Murphy said, “like, ‘Am I going to have a place to live? Am I going to be able to eat?’ 

1199SEIU, New York’s main health care workers’ union, has been critical of for-profits’ growing role in the program. Helen Schaub, the union’s interim political director, said that administrative costs have ballooned since a 2012 jump in the number of for-profit intermediaries. One of New York’s largest home care intermediaries, Schaub points out, is being run by embattled insurance giant Anthem.

Some users of the program who spoke with Mother Jones also expressed concerns that pay cuts could force their aides to look elsewhere for work, leaving both patients and workers in a difficult position. 

Lacey Tompkins, who works in advertising in New York City, says that CDPAP makes it possible for her to maintain a partly remote job as a disabled worker, with help getting to work despite hours that can change from week to week. “I can make my decisions and not [have] a standard set of hours,” Tompkins said.

Advocates with differing views agree on one thing: Hochul’s six-month timeline to transform the program is unreasonable and impractical. “Any serious company who is bidding on the work also believes that, because it’s a very daunting task,” said Schaub, of SEIU. “Privately, people in the [Hochul] administration have said, ‘We know that it can’t happen on that scale.’”

Update, August 13: This article has been updated to detail the current and proposed roles of the New York State Comptroller in reviewing the state’s CDPAP program.