The Brief

Two years ago, a judge freed Anthony Bailey after 27 years in the federal penitentiary, giving him a second chance at life.

And Bailey has been making the most of his early release. Between long hours driving a city bus in Indianapolis, attending barbecues and playing card games with family, Bailey has developed deep roots in his community.

Now, after a ruling from the Supreme Court and a legal move by the Justice Department, Bailey, 61, is facing a return to prison in a matter of weeks.

"I'm hoping and praying that everything turn out and I get my life back," Bailey said in an interview. "Today, right now, I'm a better person — I'm a productive citizen, I work hard."

Bailey's case is one of about a dozen that could be directly affected by a Supreme Court ruling in late May that limited how prisoners can use the compassionate release program to get out early.

The high court found that the compassionate release program, designed for extraordinary or compelling circumstances, is supposed to cover such things as severe illness or old age. The court majority said inmates serving much longer sentences than the punishments they would receive today were not automatically eligible for the program.

Retired federal Judge John Gleeson disagrees with that ruling.

"These are indefensibly long sentences, and they need to be corrected," he said. Gleeson launched a pro bono program that has helped more than 100 people in prison petition the courts for early release.

Most of those inmates are Black men who used a gun in connection with other crimes. Prosecutors added severe mandatory penalties to their cases, stacking those punishments, even if no shots were fired, to build prison terms of 50, 60 or even 100 years.

Anthony Bailey (left) poses with family members shortly after his release from prison in July 2024.

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Via Anthony Bailey

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"Productive member of society"

That's what happened in Bailey's case.

On Sept. 3, 1997, Bailey and two other men robbed a bank and then carried out two carjackings. Prosecutors said in court papers that his crimes were serious and put several people in danger, including a school-age girl.

"Something that I totally regrets — will never happen again, ever, in life," Bailey said.

He spent most of his time at the federal prison in Terre Haute, Ind., where he worked as a barber — a job that gave him access to scissors and other sharp tools.

His record inside prison was clean for decades, with just one minor infraction mentioned in court filings.

Maryam Kanna is a pro bono lawyer for Bailey. She said he has already served more time than most people convicted of federal murder.

"He has a stable, happy life and is a really productive member of society, so I mean, the idea that he poses a danger is completely farcical," Kanna said.

Congress changed the law, but not retroactively

Prosecutors are now signaling that they could move soon to send Bailey back to serve the rest of his long sentence — one that would give him a release date in 2050, when he is nearly 86 years old.

Kelsie Clayton, a spokesperson for the U.S. attorney in the Southern District of Indiana — where Bailey's case is pending — said the office speaks only through official court filings.

Congress has since lightened some of the harsh mandatory penalties that applied to Bailey and others convicted back in the 1990s. But lawmakers did not make that change retroactive, to apply to people already inside prison.

And the Supreme Court's ruling says that this means those people's punishments are not extraordinary or compelling, as the compassionate release program mandates.

Bailey said he would abide by the law. "OK, just got to keep fighting," he said.

He has been getting good marks from his probation officer, who told him before the Supreme Court decision that she'd recommend his early release from probation this fall.

Now, he's not sure where he'll be in September. He's making the most of his time, enjoying family barbecues and card games in the park and showing his 4-year-old grandson the ropes.

"He's a worker, you know. Everything I do — he sit there and just watch and then he [asks], 'We washing the car?' Or, 'We taking the trash out?' Like, yeah, c'mon."

He's teaching his grandson how to mow the lawn and, as a treat, taking him to enjoy the boy's favorite food: the french fries at McDonald's.
Copyright 2026 NPR

It can be the small, curved horn of a ram or the dramatic spiral of an African antelope. The sound it creates is unmistakable.

Creating that sound is not difficult, but it does take some practice, said Rabbi Alicia Jo Rabins, a musician based in Portland, Oregon.

You take a deep breath and purse your lips, like you are playing a brass instrument.

Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish new year, begins at sunset Friday. Across the world, Jews will spend the two-day holiday in prayer, reflection and celebration. And for many, a highlight will be hearing the shofar: an animal's horn blown like a trumpet.

How did this primal instrument become a holiday's spiritual soundtrack?

" The most basic answer is that it makes noise, right? It calls people to attention," said Daniel Picus, an associate professor at Western Washington University in Bellingham who researches religious practices and rituals. "All of the instances in which a shofar is used in the Hebrew Bible, that is what it's doing."

Abraham Ribak , an Israeli, blows a shofar, a musical instrument used in Jewish religious ceremonies made from the horn of a ram.

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Ariel Schalit

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AP

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Shofar blasts marked the revelation of the Torah at Mt. Sinai and the start of the Jubilee year, Picus said. Priests blew shofars when they circled the walls of Jericho to bring down the walls. The shofar marks moments of heightened experience and emotion — and Rosh Hashanah.

"In the Hebrew Bible, Rosh Hashanah is the day of trumpeting and the day of remembrance," Picus said. "The association of the shofar with Rosh Hashanah is right there in the Biblical text."

Centuries later, the Mishnah, the earliest rabbinic codification of law, drilled down into greater detail in the tractate Rosh Hashanah, laying out exactly how a shofar should be prepared (hollowed out), repaired (it depends), blown (a complex series of blasts at several times during the service, thanks to debate over linguistic interpretation), and whether or not it can be blown when Rosh Hashanah falls on Shabbat (no, although some modern synagogues have changed course).

And within the Talmud and for centuries thereafter, people have debated the meaning of the shofar.

Shofars are on display for sale at the Barsheshet-Ribak Shofarot company, in Tel Aviv, Israel.

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Ariel Schalit

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AP

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Rabbi Micha'el Rosenberg, who teaches at the Hadar Institute, a center for Jewish learning based in New York City, pointed to several sources that compare the sound of the shofar to the cry of a mother in pain — the mother of the slain biblical military commander Sisera, and the cries of a woman in labor.

Rosenberg said you can hear that in the sound — especially the broken staccato blasts, known as "teruah."

"You can really imagine someone so caught up that they can't get the full sound out even, that they're gasping with their cries," he said.

Another interpretation comes from Maimonides, the medieval Jewish rabbi and scholar known as the Rambam, who wrote "The Laws of Repentance." He describes the blast of the shofar as a sort of spiritual wake-up call to become your best self.

"In Jewish law, we have this expression of daled amos, my four cubits: I focus on the 6 feet around me, as it were," he said. "It's easy to do that — and there's value in doing that sometimes. But the shofar, per the Rambam, wakes us up and says, 'No, there's more beyond what I can immediately see around me.'"

Rosenberg also pointed to Hasidic theories that the blowing of the shofar reenacts the breathing of life into the world. But he said one of the most powerful things about the shofar is that it doesn't say anything at all. "It transcends my words, it transcends my rational thoughts, and it really is just a feeling that I can hope to hold onto," he said.

Rabins, the Portland rabbi and musician, said the shofar can call across time to speak to those wordless places inside us. "It really brings you into the moment, and you also feel connected to your ancestors, who have been hearing this sound and making this sound for thousands of years," she said.

It's a sound, Rabin said, that can wake you up to all the joy and sadness of life, whether it be a birthday horn or a mother's cry. And it makes you pay attention — both to this moment, and to the year to come.

This story was created through a partnership between NPR and Religion News Service.
Copyright 2026 NPR

TV critics care a lot about the people who bring us the shows we love, so of course we each have folks we're pulling for this Emmy season. The Pitt, Hacks, Widow's Bay and Pluribus are leading the Emmy nominations pack this year. Here's who we'll have our fingers crossed for during the ceremony on Monday night.

Outstanding drama series: Pluribus 

Rhea Seehorn in "Pluribus."

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Apple TV

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HBO Max hit The Pitt likely wins here. But Apple TV's Pluribus triumphs as a revolutionary sci-fi story; a virus, created with instructions sent from the stars, unites humanity in a giant hive mind, creating paradise or the largest cult in history. — Eric Deggans

Outstanding lead actor, drama: Noah Wyle, The Pitt 

Noah Wyle in "The Pitt."

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Warrick Page

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MAX

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It's easy to overlook the massive feat star Noah Wyle achieved on The Pitt's second season; pushing a beloved character to the brink of unlikability. Wyle plays struggling Dr. "Robby" Rabinovich as a good guy in serious crisis, finding new depths. — Eric Deggans 

Outstanding lead actress, drama: Rhea Seehorn, Pluribus 

Rhea Seehorn in "Pluribus."

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<i>Apple TV</i>

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At least half of this show is just watching Rhea Seehorn's Carol all by herself, parsing out the rules of a new post-apocalyptic world while mourning her wife. Yet it's always compelling, because Seehorn is a talent who should already have an Emmy! — Aisha Harris

Outstanding supporting actress, drama: Karolina Wydra, Pluribus 

Karolina Wydra in "Pluribus."

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Apple TV

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Hoping Emmy voters look past the four actresses nominated from The Pitt to honor a performer who brought empathy and depth to a thankless role: Karolina Wydra as Zosia, the voice of the global hive mind, talking to Rhea Seehorn's Carol in Pluribus. — Eric Deggans 

Outstanding comedy series: Margo's Got Money Troubles  

Elle Fanning in "Margo's Got Money Troubles."

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<i>Apple TV</i>

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Apple TV's Margo's Got Money Troubles is a comedy nominee that doesn't seem like one. But the story of a young woman leaning into problematic choices to build a life with her baby and quirky family was the year's most surprising, energizing show. — Eric Deggans 

Outstanding lead actor, comedy: Yahya Abdul-Mateen II, Wonder Man  

Yahya Adbul-Mateen II in "Wonder Man."

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Suzanne Tenner

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Marvel/Disney+

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This nomination was a surprise after Marvel cancelled its creative, quirky superhero series, Wonder Man. But star Yahya Abdul-Mateen II is spellbinding as a superpowered guy who just wants to be a successful actor, blending comedy, pathos and drama. — Eric Deggans 

Outstanding lead actress, comedy: Lisa Kudrow, The Comeback   

Lisa Kudrow in "The Comeback."

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Emma Simkin

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HBO

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The category's stacked, but Lisa Kudrow's Valerie Cherish threads many needles beautifully: self-absorbed yet caring, oft-humiliated yet resilient, wacky but grounded when necessary. As a character in Season 3 says to her: "To me, you're it." Indeed. — Aisha Harris  

Outstanding supporting actress, comedy: Kate O'Flynn, Widow's Bay  

Kate O'Flynn in "Widow's Bay."

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Apple TV

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It's all there in Episode 4, the one in which Patricia's desperate play to improve her social status — a cocktail party — goes awry. Kate O'Flynn knows this character, what drives her and what makes her so cringe (to us). It's utterly mesmerizing. — Aisha Harris 

Outstanding supporting actor, comedy: Nick Offerman, Margo's Got Money Troubles  

Nick Offerman in "Margo's Got Money Troubles."

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<i>Apple TV</i>

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Nick Offerman excels playing macho guys who are more sensitive than anyone expects. But he scales new heights as Jinx, an ex-wrestler/once-estranged dad, struggling with addiction while trying to support his daughter in Margo's Got Money Troubles. — Eric Deggans 

Outstanding writing for a comedy series: The Comeback 

Lisa Kudrow in "The Comeback."

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Erin Simkin

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HBO

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A new season comes around every 10 years (like the census!) to provide us a clear-eyed accounting (like the census!). This show was right about reality TV and streaming services; we ignore this season's dire, hilarious warnings about AI at our peril. — Glen Weldon 

Outstanding limited or anthology series: DTF St. Louis  

Jason Bateman and David Harbour in "DTF St. Louis."

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Tina Rowden

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HBO

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It's tough to explain how a show about the mysterious death of a schlubby guy stuck in a love triangle became the year's most creatively quirky limited series. Somehow, star David Harbour turns this tale of middle-aged desperation into poignant, dark comedy. — Eric Deggans 

And already announced

I'm happy to report that two of my picks already took home their Emmys in a ceremony last weekend formerly known as the Creative Arts Emmys. So congratulations to Betty Gilpin, who won outstanding guest actress in a comedy for Widow's Bay, and to The Muppet Show for outstanding writing for a variety special. (A third pick — Connor Storrie's game, goofball turn as SNL host — didn't end up winning outstanding guest actor in a comedy, but seeing as that award went to the late Rob Reiner for The Bear, I'm not complaining.) — Glen Weldon
Copyright 2026 NPR

A Spanish-language TV singing competition from Mexico is doing something that mega-popular shows like The Voice are not. México Canta brings contestants from the U.S. and Mexico together to share the stage — and cultural ties.

“I am very connected to my Mexican side and those roots, [but] I've never really gotten to perform for such a big Mexican audience,” said Tiffany Galaviz, who performed on the show last month. She was born and raised in L.A. County and lives in Glendale.

The semifinals were held in L.A.’s Orpheum Theater on Aug. 23, and the winners were chosen by hundreds of thousands of people who cast votes online. Galaviz made it through, which means she’ll be one of seven finalists who will perform in the competition on Sunday, Sept. 13 at Mexico City’s prestigious Auditorio Nacional.

Three will be named winners and will receive recording contracts.

“It's a huge, huge venue [that’s]  very important to the Mexican culture,” Galaviz said. “More than anything, I just feel really proud, especially making my family proud. Most of my family is from Sinaloa, and I spent a lot of summers there growing up."

Tiffany Galaviz is a mariachi musician in Southern California.

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Screenshot from México Canta video

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Studying mariachi since she was 8

The U.S. semi-finalists included performers from Arizona, Illinois and New York, while finalists from Mexico came from Morelos and Mexico City, among other places.

Galaviz is 24 and first started learning to play violin and sing in mariachi bands when she was 8. She plays violin and sings in mariachis across Southern California now and makes a living from it.

“I signed up for México Canta because I feel like I have everything that I need except the connections, the resources, the producers, the studios,” she said.

Created as an alternative to songs that glorify violence

The Voice and its Spanish-language counterpart La Voz create a platform for celebrity and the potential for stardom. But that’s less so for México Canta. The competition was created by Mexico’s Secretary of Culture to bring together people of Mexican heritage from both sides of the U.S.-Mexico border around songwriting that’s an alternative to music that glorifies violence.

“We’ve strengthened fraternal ties between people in Mexico and the U.S.,” said Claudia Curiel de Icaza, Mexico’s culture secretary, when she presented the seven U.S. semi-finalists at a morning press conference on July 23. The seven semi-finalists from Mexico were presented a week later.

“Youth are front and center in the transformation of culture. [The contest has shown] that music has no borders, and it is furthering fellowship between Mexicans and Mexican Americans,” Curiel said.

Galaviz said that’s another important reason she signed up for México Canta.

She picked the corrido musical genre for the song she performed at the Orpheum. She’s had a love-hate relationship with corridos, she said, because many contemporary songs in the genre glorify drug dealing and violence.

Tiffany Galaviz performed at the México Canta semifinals at the Orpheum Theater in downtown L.A. on August 23, 2026.

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Screenshot from México Canta video.

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“I felt like I could make a positive impact, not just me but the rest of the contestants [too] by doing songs that are a little bit more positive in nature in their lyrics,” she said.

The song is about a breakup and begins with a description of a photo torn in two. It’s about a woman’s heartbreak, she said, “ but then it kind of shifts to an empowerment, you know, of being able to be by yourself as a woman.”

Galaviz began to get teary after finishing the song and talking to the presenter on stage.

“[I'm] proud of being able to represent Mexico and my roots. … It means a lot to have my family here, who’ve always supported me,” she said.

Days after making it past the semifinals, Galaviz had not picked the song she’d sing for the Sept. 13 finals. The performance carries weight for all contestants because it’ll be three days before Mexican Independence Day. Held in Mexico’s capital, the finals will take place in front of thousands of people, with an audience on TV, radio and online on both sides of the border.

Lauren Kim works alongside her father, Hanjik, at his traditional medicine clinic on the border of Koreatown and MacArthur Park. But it took an oral history interview for her to hear parts of his story for the first time.

Filmed speaking in Korean, he animatedly described how he came to traditional medicine.

“It’s just so precious to have that captured,” Kim said.

Now that interview, along with hundreds of others about life in and around Koreatown, is being gathered into the new K-Town Archive in a partnership with UCLA that also includes photographs and ephemera.

The archive grew out of Koreatown Youth and Community Center’s Koreatown Storytelling Program, which launched in 2020 with plans to have young people interview elders. Then COVID-19 hit. Participants pivoted to delivering necessities for older residents such as masks and disinfectant.

They also started documenting what people were going through – in English, Korean, Spanish and Bangla. A current offshoot project involves interviewing people who live or work along the stretch of Third Street in Little Bangladesh.

“People hear Koreatown, they assume that it means that this is a program or an archive for Korean Americans,” said Katherine Yungmee Kim, director of the storytelling program. “But we are multiethnic. We want to represent the entire community that lives here.”

In the last several years, the teen interviewers have turned their attention to subjects including the garment industry, LGBTQIA life and food culture. As the collection of interviews grew, Kim began thinking about where they would ultimately live.

“I was always worried that we have all of these interviews and they’re just sitting on a hard drive,” she said.

A path toward a more permanent home began to emerge in 2024, when the storytelling program focused on traditional healing.

While researching Zapotec plant medicine, one high schooler came across UCLA’s Archive of Healing, a vast digital collection of knowledge about healing practices from cultures around the world.

Its materials stretch back more than 200 years and include published sources, folkloric fieldnotes and oral histories.

Kim asked UCLA’s David Shorter, a professor of World Arts and Cultures who’s overseen the Archive of Healing since 2012, to serve as an adviser to the project.

At first, the two had an idea to add Koreatown’s traditional healing interviews to the UCLA collection.

Then the idea got bigger.

Kim said she began seeing storytelling itself as a form of healing, especially as people described immigration, war, displacement and other difficult experiences.

The new K-Town Archive features recordings and photos from Koreatown and surrounding communities.

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UCLA Library Digital Collections

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“All of these stories are healing,” she said. “Why are we just narrowly looking at traditional healing modalities?”

The resulting K-Town Archive became the Archive of Healing’s first community-specific sister site. The two databases are connected, meaning material from Koreatown can also surface through searches of the larger Archive of Healing.

“What the K-Town Archive brings is real people’s stories in long form, so it's not just little snippets anymore,” Shorter said. “You actually get to hear a person, know that these are real humans, and talking from a contemporary moment.”

Kim said that it was important to populate the archives with as many voices as possible so visitors encounter more than “one historical perspective.”

The effort to create places for those conversations won’t be confined to the internet.

Lauren Kim in front of her father's apothecary cabinets. Their interviews are now preserved in the K-Town Archive.

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Courtesy of Lauren Kim

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KYCC is also setting up an art and wellness Center at Pico Boulevard and Western Avenue in a building that used to house a Dollar Tree.

Kim said the center will host Koreatown Storytelling Program events as well as arts and healing workshops. Public programming is expected to begin in January.

Lauren Kim’s family continues to stay connected to the storytelling project. She agreed to sit for an oral history of her own, talking about her childhood and connection to Koreatown.

That sparked new conversations within her family and sent them digging through old photographs, including images of her as a child posing in front of her father’s wooden apothecary cabinets.

For Kim, she was honored to contribute to the archive as “an example of what it means to work intergenerationally,” Kim said. “That felt special.”