In a recent debate Brooklyn District Attorney Charles Hynes and Ken Thompson, a well-known private attorney, traded barbs and accusations ranging from annihilating opponents to representing corrupt politicians.

The political races in the city, including the one for Brooklyn’s District Attorney, are as blistering as August temperatures.

Charles Hynes has been Brooklyn’s DA for nearly 24 years. Father of five and grandfather of 16, he’s now 78. And he says he has many more things left on his to-do list.

“I love what I’m doing,” Hynes said. “There’s no point of my retiring at this time in my life. I have much more to do in this office.”

Ken Thompson is the man trying to ensure Hynes doesn’t get that chance. One of the two men, both Democrats, will be the next D.A., as there are no Republican challengers. (Hynes petitioned for the Republican and Conservative Party ballot lines.)

Thompson is best known for representing the housekeeper who accused Dominique Strauss-Kahn, the former head of the International Monetary Fund, of sexually assaulting her.

“We have not had a choice for Brooklyn D.A. in a meaningful way for years,” he said. “And now we have a choice.”

Thompson, 48, thinks he has a good chance of breaking the city’s tradition of keeping District Attorneys in office for decades. He sees Hynes as vulnerable in the wake of problems that have dogged his office, most notably accusations that he hasn’t vigorously pursued cases of child sexual abuse in the ultra-Orthodox Jewish community. Dov Hikind, who represents Borough Park in the State Assembly, is supporting Thompson.

“This is an extremely important issue,” Hikind said. I just want someone in the D.A.’s office who’s going to be consistent on that particular issue.”

Hynes denied these accusations and says victim intimidation led to many cases falling apart. But wrongful murder convictions and accusation of prosecutorial misconduct in his office have also dominated the headlines.

“I think his office has had a troubling readiness to double down on cases before appropriately looking into the challenges to the convictions,” said Daniel Richman, a professor of law at Columbia University and a former federal prosecutor.

But Richman also credited Hynes with creating drug treatment alternative to prison programs and championing re-entry programs and community courts. These efforts, he said, have put Brooklyn at the forefront.

“That is something he has pushed and should be credited for pushing,” Richman said.

These programs have also made Hynes popular with many black residents in Brooklyn, like Rosanne Barber, a secretary at a church in Crown Heights. Once a week counselors from Hynes’ office help out there with issues ranging from domestic violence to gang problems. Barber says the neighborhood has benefited from this effort.

“He has left an indelible impression in this community,” Barber said. “He’s a man who was destined to do great things, and for me he has done that.”

Hynes sees himself as a progressive DA. He said he understands people sometimes end up in the criminal justice system because of circumstances beyond their control.

Hynes said his actions are informed by events going back to his childhood in Flatbush, when he watched his dad physically abuse his mother. That went on until he was about 18, strong enough to stop it.

“I told my father: ‘You raise your hand to my mother again, I’m going to deck you.’” Hynes said, remembering the events. “And he raised his hand, and I decked him. And he left the house the next day.”

Hynes and his challenger Thompson share the experience of being raised by strong women. Thompson’s mother was one of the first female patrol officers in the New York Police Department.

He’s running for office for the first time and has the task of making himself known to voters. On a recent day at a senior center in East New York he first clarified who he was.

“There’s another Thompson running: Bill Thompson,” he said. “He’s running for the mayor. I’m Ken Thompson, and I’m running for Brooklyn D.A.”

Thompson has his own law firm in Manhattan on Fifth Avenue and he used to work as a federal prosecutor. He’s raising two young children with his wife in Clinton Hill. As he moved from one table to another, shaking hands with the seniors gathered he promises to run the D.A.’s office more efficiently and adhere to higher ethical standards.

Edith Stanley, 82, promised Thompson she’ll support him. She said she thinks it’s time for someone to replace Hynes and Brooklyn DA.   

“I think he’s been in there long enough, okay?” Stanley said. “And we need someone else to take him.”

Thompson is mild-mannered and reserved. And the campaign trail doesn’t exactly seem like a natural habitat for him.

“I have to run in an election to become D.A.” he said. “But I believe that there’s no greater purpose in fighting for justice.”

Voters will have the final say on who is best suited to fight for justice in Brooklyn.  

Suyapa is used to worrying. She’s at the New York Presbyterian Hospital with her 10-year-old daughter Fatima who’s getting a blood transfusion.

Fatima suffers from sickle cell anemia and is at a high risk of stroke. Blood transfusions lower that risk so Suyapa brings Fatima for the treatment every month.

“It’s really fun when my mom is here,” Fatima said. “She makes me laugh and stuff.”

But today Suyapa isn’t in a playful mood. The Honduran immigrant had a hearing scheduled in immigration court last week and would have likely been approved for a green card. But the government shutdown led to court closure.

“It’s something that I wasn’t expecting to happen,” she said. “I’ve been waiting for so long. I’m in limbo.”

Suyapa, who asked WNYC not to use her last name because of her unresolved immigration status, said her daughter’s illness makes her especially concerned about what comes next.

“The uncertainty, not knowing what will happen,” she said. “That’s the most difficult thing.”

Currently only immigrants who are detained are appearing before immigration judges. Lawyers like Andrew Johnson say canceled hearings in immigration court are particularly problematic.

“When a case is delayed, it could get knocked back another two to three years just based on the calendar of immigration judges in New York,” Johnson said.

That’s because immigration courts are severely backlogged. Over 50,000 cases are currently pending in New York State. But the impact of the shutdown isn’t restricted to immigration courts.

Companies that are hitting a deadline to file applications for green cards for employees who have worked for them for five years can’t do it now. Neena Dutta, an immigration attorney, says that’s because the Department of Labor isn’t issuing labor certifications required in the process.

“You have an employee who’s worked for a company for five years, they’re an expert in what they do, the company depends on them,” Dutta said. “And now we’re in a situation where if the employer can’t file, in year’s time they might have to lose them.”

Dutta says the DOL shutdown also affects highly skilled foreign workers in another way. Some who have planned to switch jobs aren’t able to do it now.

“People who have come here legally and who have had employers sponsor are really, really sensitive to the fact that they’ve done everything right and they want to continue to do everything right,” she said. “And this is forcing people into a situation where they may fall out of status, do something wrong.”

Hours before Sandy hit on Oct. 28, 2012, Mayor Michael Bloomberg stood in an evacuation shelter on the lower east side and urged residents of Zone A — the area most in danger of flooding — to get out.

“We have a plan to keep you and New Yorkers safe. If you follow that plan we’ll get through this storm just fine,” Bloomberg said, addressing a nervous city.

But that plan didn’t work for everyone and, in the chaotic days after the storm, stories emerged of people trapped in darkened high-rises struggling to survive.

To be sure, many of those people chose to ignore evacuation orders and didn’t prepare for the storm despite repeated warnings. But for some — particularly the city’s 900,000 disabled residents — the local emergency plans were inadequate, according to advocates for people with disabilities.

Those advocates are suing New York City in federal court alleging the city’s emergency plans violate the Americans with Disabilities Act — a case that could have implications for local governments nationwide.

“We brought this lawsuit because people with disabilities in New York were scared of what was going to happen during a disaster,” said Julia Pinover, a senior staff attorney for Disability Rights Advocates, the organization handling the class-action lawsuit against the city. The plaintiffs include the Brooklyn Center for Independence of the Disabled and Center for Independence of the Disabled, New York.

According to the lawsuit, the city doesn’t have adequate transportation to help disabled people evacuate, has failed to ensure shelters are accessible and has no plan to find and rescue those trapped after an emergency.

And advocates say practically nothing has changed since Sandy — meaning the city’s most vulnerable are in just as much danger today as they were a year ago.

“I haven’t seen any improvements in the plans over the past year. So I think if a hurricane were to hit tomorrow we’d see the same thing as we saw during Sandy,” Pinover said.

City officials and attorneys declined multiple interview requests. Throughout the case they said the city has numerous plans and resources to help all New Yorkers. They also stressed the importance of personal responsibility.

The city’s Law Department did provide a prepared statement.

“Through a wide range of on-the-ground efforts, targeted communications, outreach, and specialized programs, the City takes tremendous care to incorporate the needs of people with disabilities into every stage of its emergency planning,” according to the statement. “After Sandy, we engaged in a rigorous and expedited process to further enhance our existing programs for all New Yorkers, including, of course, people with disabilities.”

The Department of Justice, however, seems to disagree. The feds weighed in on the case in May — filing a statement with the court supporting the plaintiffs and urging the judge to find against the city.

Such filings carry a lot of weight, said Samuel Bagenstos a professor at the University of Michigan Law School and an expert on disability law.

“The Department of Justice is the agency that’s responsible for enforcing the Americans with Disabilities Act against state and local governments and they have a special responsibility to tell the courts what the law means and the courts listen to them very carefully,” Bagenstos said.

He added that people across the country are paying close attention to the New York case.

“I think it’s a very big deal,” Bagenstos said. “These are really life and death issues for people with disabilities. And this is a case that establishes the principle that people with disabilities, like everybody else, have to be fully accounted for in emergency preparedness actions.”

Pinover said the suit was part of a growing recognition nationwide following Hurricane Katrina that people with disabilities are particularly vulnerable during a disaster. Her group actually filed the lawsuit in 2011 after Irene.

“The lawsuit is kind of amazing because if you read the complaint it reads like a play by play for what happened during Sandy to the class of persons with disabilities who we represent,” Pinover said.

It’s only the second such suit in the country. Disability Rights Advocates also handled the first lawsuit, which was against the City and County of Los Angeles. A federal judge in 2011 ruled against the City of Los Angeles and the advocates reached a settlement with the county.

The New York case went to trial in March, after Sandy. So, most of the testimony and filings focused on the city’s performance during that storm.

The case included the testimony of Joyce De La Rosa who has an orthopedic bone defect and is in a motorized wheelchair. She lives in a Kips Bay high-rise just outside the area Bloomberg ordered to evacuate during the storm.

When her power went out she was trapped with her daughter, who is also in a wheelchair, in their third-floor apartment.

De La Rrosa uses an electric-powered oxygen machine at night. Without it she gets headaches, her body hurts and she can’t sleep.

“My daughter wanted me to go to the hospital right away after 24 hours. Because she said ‘Mommy you know you can’t sleep and you’re going to have trouble breathing,’ you know. So she was really concerned,” De La Rosa said. “I said 'Well this is just 24 hours now.' And then it was 48 hours. But after that then the next day, the third day, I said 'No, I’m going to go.'”

De La Rosa ended up calling an ambulance and going to the hospital.

Advocates say the city had no plan to check on people like De La Rosa. Emergency personnel didn’t start going door-to-door until 10 days after the storm hit. And the city’s program to help evacuate the homebound might as well have been nonexistent. It evacuated fewer than 100 people before Sandy hit and was never restarted after the storm, according to documents and testimony filed as part of the lawsuit.

The case also showed that the city didn’t really have a way for disabled people to get information during the storm other than 311, which was overwhelmed and had wait times of 26 minutes on Oct. 31.

The city failed to stockpile shelters with items for disabled evacuees — supplies like meals for diabetics. And testimony revealed officials didn’t even know how many shelters were accessible to people in wheelchairs.

In court, city officials and attorneys defended the city’s performance testifying that the city does consult with disability rights groups in emergency planning, has a volunteer emergency response program, uses an advanced warning system to reach many with disabilities and operates special needs shelters for evacuees. The lawyers also raised questions about how much the city was at fault in individual cases. For example, a city attorney questioned why De La Rosa hadn’t gotten a back-up oxygen tank prior to the storm as opposed to relying on her electric-powered machine.

The city also appears to have taken steps to address some of the disability rights advocates’ concerns. In the past year, the city has tried to figure out which shelters are accessible and the Mayor's Office recently recommended making door-to-door searches for the vulnerable standard protocol.

But advocates say the changes aren’t enough and the city has known for years how vulnerable disabled people are during an emergency.

Melba Torres, who evacuated to an inaccessible shelter during Irene, testified in the trial. Torres has cerebral palsy and uses a 500-pound motorized wheelchair to get around. She went to a shelter with her aides for the 2011 storm.

“I have to tell you that it was not equipped for us, for somebody in a wheelchair,” Torres said. “They had military cots so I stood in my chair and put pillows to prop myself because being in a military cot was unbelievably awkward for me and it just made my back hurt.”

She slept upright in her wheelchair. If that wasn’t bad enough, the shelter’s bathroom door was too narrow. So her aides had to carry her into the stall, which was embarrassing, she said.

Despite the experience, Torres said she was willing to evacuate again during Sandy. But she said she wasn’t told to leave until 5:40 p.m. the night the storm hit — less than three hours before her building’s elevators were scheduled to shut down. Torres said the shutdown actually started closer to 7 p.m. and she didn’t have time to line up transportation that could take her wheelchair.

“We were still here. The elevators had been shut down so at that point I was thinking ‘Oh dear God, how am I going to come down?’ I live on an eighth floor and I was really afraid,” she said.

Hours later, the power went out leaving Torres and her aide in total darkness.

“Total fear came over me and I just cried. I just cried because I felt trapped and I knew that I wasn’t going to be able to leave,” she said.

It’s unclear when the judge in the case will issue an opinion. Some involved in the lawsuit speculate he might release a decision soon to coincide with the anniversary of Sandy.

Over 700,000 Latinos are registered to vote in New York City — is it any wonder that mayoral candidates Bill de Blasio and Joe Lhota are both courting them? But Lhota is doing worse on this score than Republicans traditionally do. For the first time in 25 years, a Republican might win fewer than three in 10 Hispanic votes.

Why? And is the low response from Latinos about Lhota in particular or the Republican Party in general? 

WNYC reporter Mirela Iverac went to find out.

To hear her full report, click the audio player.

Immigration courts reopened Friday, but it’s unclear how hearings canceled during the shutdown will be rescheduled.

A spokeswoman for the Department of Justice, which oversees immigration courts, said cases will be rescheduled based on the availability of immigration judges. But immigration attorney Jeffrey Feinbloom said there are problems with that plan.

“These are very, generally speaking, particularly in New York, very busy and often over-worked judges,” Feinbloom said. “And they have crowded calendars, and I really don’t know how that’s going to play out.”

In New York State over 50,000 cases are currently pending, and judges already have hearings scheduled in 2017.

In New York, the majority of those who die working in construction are Latinos and immigrants, according to a new report from the Center for Popular Democracy.

Between 2003 and 2011, 74 percent of the people who died after a fatal fall while working at construction sites were Latinos and other immigrants.

Pedro Corchado, injured while working in the Bronx in 2008, said, “I was basically up on the ladder, and the ladder collapsed on me. I fell about 11 feet or so to the concrete floor. I suffered neck and lower back injuries that will be with me the rest of my life.”

Corchado spoke in Astoria, in front of a site where earlier this year a construction worker died after he fell through the floor.

Authors of the report say that Latinos face more risk because they often work for non-union contractors.

Early on Oct. 29, 2012,  tropical storm Sandy, churning through Atlantic Ocean waters in an easterly direction along America's Eastern Seaboard, hit a high pressure cold front and curved north-northeast.  It was a left turn that became a left hook, aimed straight at the ribs of New Jersey.  

Sandy's center made landfall at 7:30 p.m. at Brigantine, just north of Atlantic City. Its storm surge and 40 to 60 mile per hour winds delivered a uppercut to New York City, a lethal blow that was cloaked in darkness.

The combination of a huge tropical storm colliding with a massive cold front at high tide during a full moon meant  were in for something that no one alive had ever experienced in the NY area.    

New York City's  24/7 subway system —  656 miles of it — were shut down.  All three area airports were closed.  Mayor Michael Bloomberg ordered mandatory evacuations of low lying and coastal areas. Millions of people lost power.  Our region hunkered down  and WNYC was on the air live watching and waiting with our listeners.     More than 100 people in New York, NJ and Ct lost their lives to the storm, mostly due to drowning. The material damages were massive. Sandy would become the second-costliest hurricane in US history after Katrina leaving assessed damages of almost 65 billion dollars. And as we’re learning, the emotional toll is still being tallied everyday by those still putting their lives back together.  

Listen as we follow up on where we stand twelve months after Sandy.  

One year of covering Sandy in photos:

Sandy burned down more than 100 homes in Breezy Point. In the days after residents continued to pick through the rubble for belongings. (Stephen Nessen/WNYC)

(Stephen Nessen/WNYC)

The morning after Sandy in Coney Island. (Stephen Nessen/WNYC)

Outside of the housing projects in Far Rockaway residents charge cell phones while the power is still out. (Stephen Nessen/WNYC)

The morning after Sandy residents in ground floor apartments in Brighton Beach were inundated with water. (Stephen Nessen/WNYC)

In February the boardwalk at Beach 116th Street in Rockaway Park remains warped, yet residents continue to walk on it to get to the beach. (Stephen Nessen/WNYC)

In January residents in Rockaway Beach still had no power and ran an extension cord from a neighbors home for power. (Stephen Nessen/WNYC)

On Rockaway Beach Boulevard 17 buildings burned down during Sandy. In February most of the debris from the fire has been removed. (Stephen Nessen/WNYC)

Construction on comfort stations at Beach 116th Street in April, 2013 in Rockaways Park, Queens. (Stephen Nessen/WNYC)

This week, a war crimes tribunal in Bangladesh sentenced two men to death for the killings of 18 people during the country's war of independence from Pakistan, in 1971.

One of the men, Ashrafuzzaman Khan, is a long-time resident of New York. He's been an active member of the Islamic Circle of North America, and served as an imam in Jamaica, Queens.

Another Bangladeshi New Yorker, Ali Hasan Kibria, said he once stepped into Khan's mosque and was so shocked to see Khan there that he walked out, without praying.

"Because this is against my morals."

Kibria was 12 in 1971, when Bangladesh, then known as East Pakistan, fought for independence. His family fled the country for five months, fearful for their lives. The crackdown by the Pakistani military and various militias resulted in an estimated 3 million deaths, as well as a brutal campaign of genocidal rape against hundreds of thousands of women.  Echoing the war tribunal's claims, Kibria said Khan was responsible for numerous deaths -- in some instances, he and an accomplice would sneak into the homes of reporters, academics and other intellectuals at night, and 'disappear' them. 

"[In] 1971, forty years ago, he killed so many people. Now he doesn't say sorry, or he doesn't make it clear that he did the wrong thing."

Some of the bodies of the victims Khan was convicted of murdering were recovered, but others weren't. Kibria is one of several Bangladeshis in New York who have fought to bring Khan to justice. Dr. Pradip Kar says the death sentence against Khan confirms suspicions that Khan lied about his background during his naturalization process, and even though Kar says Khan is a US citizen, he believes he should be deported.

"As I know, the US has a law. Those that are lying during the immigration process, he cannot stay here. His citizenship should be cancelled."

But not everyone agrees. Naeem Baig is the president of the Islamic Circle of North America and questions the legitimacy of the war tribunal proceedings. He said the recent trials in Bangladesh have been politically motivated. And he cited the findings of Human Rights Watch, which claimed violations of fair trials standards. The group also noted that at least 47 suspects have died in custody. Other defendants have had limited access to lawyers and little knowledge of the charges and evidence against them.

"We believe that in order to have proper justice, Bangladesh should apply all international standards for these war crime tribunals," said Baig.

He also said Khan has been a model citizen with a long record of public service.

"His service to the Muslim community and his relationship with people of all faiths and backgrounds is very well known in the community. He's a man who dedicated his life to the community. That's what we know of Imam Khan."

Baig said that Khan is currently out of the US on a pilgrimage to Mecca. Meanwhile, Khan's opponents here plan to initiate a campaign for his deportation to Bangladesh.

In New York City, 1.8 million people use food stamp, including 24-year-old Yale graduate Hugo Martinez Bernardino. Bernardino, along with one in five New Yorkers, saw food stamp benefits go down last week. Now a debate in Washington is underway about whether to implement larger cuts.

To listen to the full story, click the audio player.

When the Supreme Court struck down the key provisions of the Defense of Marriage Act in June, it was a moment of jubilation for same-sex binational couples. Many immediately applied to sponsor their spouses for green cards. WNYC’s Mirela Iverac was there as one couple took the final step in that process.

Listen to the full story in the audio player.

All of these youths were killed outside, at night or in the early morning hours.

That's also where much of the grieving took place--on the stretch of sidewalk or street where they were gunned down.

The teens were called JayJay, Rozay, Sadonte, Kiki, BeeJay, Asia, K.T., MaoMao, Shallie and Rasmoove by the people who loved them best. They were the unlucky ones in a year of record low homicides.

They didn't just die in the most dangerous neighborhoods--they lived there. Chubby babies who grew into little comics, acrobatic basketball players and aspiring fashionistas. A 17 year old who would give you his sneakers if you said you liked them and a kid couldn't eat a meal without some ketchup.

 The street homages in Flatbush, Bedford Stuyvesant and Far Rockaway document the flip side of the 'safest big city in America'. New York City is on track to come in below 400 murders at the end of this year, breaking all records. But if you're black or brown-- like the nine boys and one girl who were shot and killed during this series, you have a better chance of dying young.

 That makes 17 year old Kaiim Viera’s mother furious. "It angers me a lot when I turn on TV and they keep saying crime is down...where?” Iasia Tyre’s oldest son was killed after being shot ten times in September, 2012 on Fulton Street. No suspect was ever arrested.

Kaaim's father was also gunned down on the streets of Brooklyn. After that, Tyre vowed her son wouldn't become another statistic. She feels ashamed that she couldn't keep her promise.

"As a mother you're supposed to be there, you're supposed to prevent someone from hurting him and I didn't”, confessed Tyre.

 Tyre in September 2012, right after Kaiim was murdered and recently, with her 3 year old son Quinn.

For most of her 38 years, Tyre has lived in public housing. She was raising her boys Kaaim and Quinn in the Baisley Park Houses in Jamacia, Queens. But before she buried her oldest son - she vowed to move. "I'm leaving-- I refuse to raise another child in New York City Housing Authority, I refuse to raise another child in New York City.”

Six of the ten kids profiled for In Harms Way were residents of NYCHA buildings. Assistant Commissioner Kevin O'Connor who heads the police department’s Juvenile Justice Division said much of the violence around these complexes is caused by street crews. "The way the gangs have evolved over the last five years-- they've become these geographical turf battles. And it’s very easy to create a perimeter in a housing building,” said the veteran officer.

O'Connor estimates there are about 300 such gangs in the city and about one third of them are actively dangerous, accounting for much of the city's gun violence. "Kids can't walk a straight line to school anymore. They have to go around the block because they can't go through a certain street cause that's a rival group," O'Connor said. One such battle escalated for months over social media before Xavier Granville was shot outside a rival's apartment building in Far Rockaway, Queens. Threats that started on Facebook and YouTube culminated in the 17 year old's death. Part of what O'Connor's unit does is monitor these sites. "Everybody wants to be part of something and that's what most of these kids are looking for just to be part of something" O'Connor said he sees kids who never leave their neighborhoods. The suspects in these cases, like the victims were young too, no one arrested was over 25.  Two of the teens in the series were shot and killed by police, fatally wounded by officers who said they were armed. Investigations in both cases are still pending.

 "I got up this morning and was packing or finishing up packing,” said Tyre, who doesn't plan to be around to read another obituary. She's moving to Maryland.As she was going through Kaiim's things, she found a letter addressed to her, dated April 2004. He wrote "I thank you for caring for me; I would give up the universe for you to be happy."

Taking off shoes, separating liquids, passing through scanners. Being in an airport is a hassle many people dread. But for Celis Wignall the John F. Kennedy Airport on a recent day became a place where dreams were coming true.

“I feel excited about what’s going on,” she said. “I’m just waiting for her to come outside.”

Wignall was waiting for her daughter, Miriam Robinson. Eighteen years ago Wignall left Jamaica for the United States to support her family. She got her green card here, became a citizen, and filed a green card application for her daughter. And then she waited. And waited because the number of green cards available each year is limited. For over a decade Wignall’s two weeks of vacation in Jamaica were the only time she could spend with her daughter.

“Two days before I leave we can’t speak to each other because you have this knot in your stomach knowing that you have to leave,” she said in an interview in February. “She’s mourning, I’m mourning, because I know I’m not going be able to see her for another year.”

Wignall, 50, made the journey from her home in New Jersey to Jamaica every year. But her daughter had to stay put, one of 4 million people waiting abroad to join their families in the U.S., according to the Department of State.

For some it takes only a few months to become eligible for a green card; others wait over 20 years. In a phone interview from Jamaica in February, Robinson said she had adapted to this kind of life.

“I don’t think about marriage,” she said. “I don’t think about kids and other long-term commitment. I don’t want to jeopardize the fact that she’s filed in my name."

The wait paid off. Robinson’s application was approved in September. On that recent day she got off the plane from Jamaica and entered the U.S. as a permanent resident.

"I'm here!" she said, laughing.

Not even a teenager when her mother left Jamaica, Robinson is 30 now. She left aside the four suitcases into which she has packed her life and fell into her mother’s embrace.

“I am ecstatic,” she said. “Over the years I’ve been waiting for this moment, and it’s finally here. I am super grateful.”

The two women, who look alike and wore skinny jeans and winter coats, left the airport smiling. They’re starting a new chapter of their lives. Robinson plans to study here and find a job.

Wignall said she felt at peace because her home is now a place her daughter can call home as well.

“I feel like I’m complete, I’m whole,” she said. “This is the best feeling I have in a long time.” 

This story was reported with the support of the Institute for Justice & Journalism.

Ethnic enclaves are among the jewels of New York — places where the city's immigrants can ease their way into American life while holding onto aspects of the old country. And of course, for outsiders, opportunities to get the "most authentic" dumplings/kababs/tamales. But in some cases there's a serious downside: they stifle English proficiency and limit opportunities to climb the economic ladder.

"I think that in terms of the ability to speak English, ethnic enclaves are not good," said Brigitte Waldorf, a professor at Purdue University who has co-authored a paper on the enclave effect. 

Waldorf's research suggested that a 35-year-old woman from China — married, living in the U.S. for five years, earning $25,000 a year, and without a high school degree — had a 28 percent chance of knowing English if she were the only Chinese speaker in a given neighborhood. But if she were to live in a Chinese enclave — say, 10 percent Chinese — the likelihood that she would speak English would drop dramatically: to 13.6 percent.

It matters, she argued, because English is "an absolute must in American society in order to be fully integrated."

And it's not just immigrants themselves. As we explore in this episode of Micropolis, kids who are raised in certain enclaves are less likely to succeed in life.

Police Commissioner Ray Kelly stunned reporters — and many long-time New Yorkers — when in May 2012 he said there was a break in the 1979 disappearance of Etan Patz, one of the most well-known missing child cases in the city's history. Kelly announced the arrest of Pedro Hernandez, a New Jersey man, who had confessed to murdering the 6-year-old.

But in getting that confession, detectives did not take what many consider to be a critical step to avoid a wrongful conviction.

They did not record Hernandez's full interrogation.

Court records show they didn't start recording until Hernandez had already been in custody for more than seven hours. That's a fact that could come back to haunt them when the case goes to trial — leaving an opening for the defense attorney to create doubt about the truth of the confession. And if he didn't do it, the lack of a record showing how cops got Hernandez to confess could mean an innocent man goes to prison.

"How in God's name could you not record that interrogation?" said Peter Neufeld, co-founder of the Innocence Project, which works to use DNA testing to exonerate people who were wrongfully convicted. "When you pick somebody up and you know it's a high-profile case, how could you not record that interrogation when you know you're just inviting suspicion?"

The Innocence Project has documented 311 post-conviction DNA exonerations nationwide. In more than a quarter of those cases there was a false confession. Experts say people with mental illness and low IQ are particularly susceptible to confessing to something they didn't do. Hernandez' attorney has argued his client "suffers from a serious mental disorder and has an IQ of approximately 70," according to court filings. 

A state task force formed by New York's Chief Judge Jonathan Lippman reported in January 2012 that requiring police departments to electronically record interrogations was the most critical reform possible to avoiding wrongful convictions. Yet months after that report, NYPD detectives recorded only a fraction of Hernandez's time in custody.

Commissioner Kelly was on the task force. State Assemblyman Joseph Lentol was also on the task force and said Kelly actually voted against recommending legislation to require the electronic recording of interrogations. Lentol has pushed for such legislation for the past decade.

One group opposing such legislation is the New York City Detectives Endowment Association. The group's president, Michael Palladino, said it's costly to outfit precincts with equipment and would slow down an already overburdened system.

He worried videotapes of interrogations would "become a training film or training episode for other criminals." He also pointed out that cops in this country are legally allowed to lie and trick suspects into confessing. He worried such tactics might not play well with a jury.

Kelly and the NYPD did not respond to repeated requests for comment on the issue.

In September 2012, Commissioner Kelly pledged to voluntarily expand videotaping of interrogations in the most serious felony cases to all precincts. But more than a year later, two-thirds of detective squads still aren't outfitted with recording equipment, according to figures from the NYPD. Only two of 77 are recording interrogations in homicide cases.

Asked to comment, the NYPD provided a brief prepared statement saying the department is "in the process of expanding citywide."

But that expansion is too late for the Hernandez case. There is a court hearing scheduled for March to determine if Hernandez's confession is admissible.

Reporting contributed by ProPublica reporter Joaquin Sapien. 

On a recent morning Willina Rodriguez strode across 9th Avenue in cropped pants, wearing red shoes and lipstick that matched them.

The high school senior’s stylish outfit hinted at what she hopes to be: a fashion designer. The wiry 17-year-old whose long, black curly hair is streaked with red highlights already has a name for her future label.

“I would like Sophia Laurel for some reason,” she said. “It sounds cool.”

Willina now thinks she has the grades, in the 80 and 90 range, which will open the doors of the Fashion Institute of Technology to her. But not too long ago, when Willina was a sophomore, her grades hovered around 50. And she skipped classes 15 days a month.

"I felt like being with my friends was more important than school and I wasn’t really motivated to do good,” Willina said.

She turned her academic performance around after she passed her science Regents exam at the end of her sophomore year. 

“And I earned $500 for it,” she said. “When I had those bills in my hand, I said, ‘Oh, OK then. I’m going to start doing good so I can keep getting money.’”

Willina received the money as a part of an experiment of the Bloomberg administration called Family Rewards 2.0. The city is trying to motivate kids by paying them to go to school, get good grades and pass standardized tests. Parents also get cash rewards. Willina’s mom, Carmen De La Cruz, 42, gets conditional cash if she works full time and if she and Willina do annual physical and dental check-ups.  

“This program, Family Rewards, was like a motivation not just to work but also for my daughter’s education and for everything,” De La Cruz said.

This is at the heart of the Family Rewards experiment. Give low-income families cash when they make better short-term decisions. The theory is that rewarding good choices in health, education and work leads to permanent changes in habits and behavior. And that change then breaks the cycle of inter-generational poverty.

But those working on the program say getting people to make good choices isn’t always easy.

“We are trying to work with people toward behavioral change,” said Ilana Zimmerman, a director at the Children’s Aid Society, which is running the Family Rewards program. “And people are constantly weighing these cons and pros of whether they’re ready and willing to change behavior.”

This is the first time a conditional cash transfer program is being tested in the United States. Bloomberg got the idea from Mexico's program, which advocates say lifted scores of people out of extreme poverty, and wanted to replicate it in New York City.

“The [U.S.] government has been fighting poverty with the same basic weapons for decades," Bloomberg said. "And we weren’t going to wait for them to develop new, innovative approaches.”

In 2007, the city launched a three-year conditional cash transfer program. It was only a small experimental program, not like Mexico’s, which essentially became the main welfare system. But by 2010 it was clear the program wasn’t successful in New York. Bloomberg wasn’t discouraged. He still wanted to give conditional cash another shot. Jim Riccio worked on redesigning the program. 

“The new demonstration is an attempt to apply the lesson from the original study, build a stronger intervention, one we think … will have bigger effects,” Riccio said.

Riccio works at a non-profit research organization, MDRC, that launched the next phase. Six hundred Bronx families have earned on average $4000 in the past two years. But Riccio says we’ll have to wait for 2015 to see if paying people for good behavior can prevent another cycle of poverty.   

“The jury is out,” Riccio said. “And we’ll have to wait and see how the results turn out.”  

Some experts think New York’s program is an important experiment, because it could be used to replace traditional welfare models if it proves to be successful. Others, like Lawrence Mead, a professor of public policy at NYU, think this all cash-no enforcement approach will not work. 

“It doesn’t change behavior,” Mead said. “There’s no reason to think that doing that is going to cause people to live a different life. Change, as far as we have learned, is primarily a matter of enforcement.”

But Willina says getting cash rewards has changed her. She says she'll continue doing well in college when those rewards will no longer be available. 

“I’m still going to be motivated to do good, because actually I want to … become someone in life,” she said.

Mayor Bill de Blasio won office, in part, by describing New York’s story as a tale of two cities. And indeed, there are corners of New York City populated solely by the super-rich and others shadowed by the most desperate poverty. But most of us live somewhere in between – and some of us live squarely in the middle. All this week, WNYC reporters are visiting neighborhoods – one in each borough – smack at the city’s median income: just $51,865 per household. We want to learn how it feels to live here on that sum, and how it feels to be middle class in New York City now.

Today Jim O'Grady reports from Grasmere, just south of The Staten Island Expressway.

Everything about Census Block 64 is modest. The topography rolls, but gently. The houses are small to medium-sized and, during Christmas season, they are draped with tasteful decorations: no talking Santas, no inflatable Frosties.

Economically speaking, Grasmere's plainness is part of its appeal. More than 60 percent of Grasmere residents have arrived since 2000. Many of the newcomers are immigrant families who either aspire to the middle class or have newly reached it. They don't need fancy. They need relatively cheap.

That's what attracted the family of 26-year old Andy Meli. A year ago, the Melis left their apartment in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn, crossed the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge, took the first exit and bought a four-bedroom house in Grasmere.

Meli says he misses Brooklyn, where his dad still runs a pizzeria. But he is adapting. "It's a change of pace," he said, looking around at his semi-suburban surroundings. "But it's actually nice here, quieter."

Meli says being middle class means spending nearly half the family income on the mortgage, putting a garden in the backyard instead of a pool, and debating the purchase of every electronic device. Asked what he would buy if he came into money, Meli answers, "Like, three dogs or something."

Not a sports car—three dogs instead of the one that his family has now. His dream is modest, like his neighborhood.

Mayor Bill de Blasio won office, in part, by describing New York’s story as a tale of two cities. And indeed, there are corners of New York City populated solely by the super-rich and others shadowed by the most desperate poverty. But most of us live somewhere in between – and some of us live squarely in the middle. All this week, WNYC reporters are visiting neighborhoods – one in each borough – smack at the city’s median income: just $51,865 per household. We want to learn how it feels to live here on that sum, and how it feels to be middle class in New York City now.

Today Ilya Marritz reports from Corona where single-family homes dominate, but many residents are just passing through.

In the popular imagination, Queens is a land of proud homeowners. Think Archie Bunker, Peter Parker’s Aunt May and Uncle Ben, or George Costanza’s parents. And the stats seem to bear this out. The borough has many neighborhoods where median yearly income is close to the city’s median of $52,000.

Corona is one such neighborhood. And strange to say, its reputation as a modest sort of place to settle down is partly due to a man who was rich.

For the last three decades of his life, Louis Armstrong made a simple two story house on 107^th street his home. His wife Lucille picked it in 1943; her best friend lived next door. The price: under $9,000. At that time, Armstrong’s yearly income was half a million dollars – or around $6 million in today’s dollars.

“He was one of the greatest superstars of his generation, and he’s living in a terribly middle-class neightborhood. And the question is ‘why?’” said Ben Flood, a tour guide at what is now the Louis Armstrong House Museum.

Armstrong died in 1971…And you have to wonder whether he would recognize the Corona of today.

This former neighborhood of proud homeowners is now much more a neighborhood of renters. On doors and windows and lamp posts there are handwritten flyers, advertising apartments, or rooms. Usually, they’re in Spanish.

“I need to work here first, make money, and go back to by country,” said Carlos Sanchez, a construction worker who was born in Ecuador.

Juan Carlos Minchala, another Ecuadorian construction worker, said despite earning $120 a day on a job, he doesn’t feel middle class.

If he saves any money at all, Minchala doesn’t spend it on fun, or home improvements. No. He sends it to relatives.

“For my family in Ecuador, you know,”

This part of Corona is one of the neighborhoods where the median income is close to the city’s median of $52,000. Middle of the pack. But it doesn’t feel prosperous.

According to the U.S. Census, three quarters of the residents of the tract where the Armstrongs once lived arrived in the last ten years. Only around three percent were living here at the time when you might, through an open window, catch the sound of the great jazzman practicing his trumpet. 

The Louis Armstrong House Museum in Corona, Queens (Amy Pearl/WNYC)

'Free Soap' advertised at a laundromat on Northern Blvd. in Corona, Queens (Amy Pearl/WNYC)

A worker waits for the bus in Corona, Queens. (Amy Pearl/WNYC)

Northern Blvd. in Corona, Queens (Amy Pearl/WNYC)

The city's median income is $51,865 across the five boroughs. In Manhattan it's closer to $70,000; in the Bronx it's around $34,000. And in Bedford-Stuyvesant, Brooklyn, in Census tract 267, where brownstones break all-time price records, it's $52,253.

 Stepping gingerly down the icy stairs of her three-story brownstone, Rosalind Morris shakes her head. Her kids forgot to lock the front door again.

"Those kids leave everything open," she says, marching off to catch a late subway to her nursing job at Elmhurst Hospital.

Morris grew up in her family's Renaissance Revival brownstone, which was built in 1899. It’s now home to a household of 12: kids, grandkids, in-laws. Told that she lives in a census tract that matches the city’s median income, and asked if she feels middle class, Morris doesn't hesitate.

"Always did," she fires back. "Bi-racial child growing up in the '60s. I was middle class when middle class wasn’t popular. You figure that out."

Morris’ mother was a hairdresser; her father, a Trinidad native, played saxophone in a Calypso band and was a maintenance worker at Brooklyn College. He helped sell real estate on the side and in 1946 the couple bought a home on Hancock Street for $6,000.

Now, there are eight children living there and only two adults are working: Morris and her daughter, an MTA dispatcher.

Despite the upward trend of Bed-Stuy brownstones selling for millions in this census tract, Morris says she's not tempted.

"I’m going to stay here 'till I die and I’m going to pass it on to my kids," she says. "The way my mother passed it on to me."

She says half her income goes to paying a mortgage she refinanced so she could fix the building's 100-year old plumbing. A quarter of her income goes to fixing up the house. But she does splurge once in awhile. Last Halloween, she took everyone in the house on a four-day Carnival cruise to the Bahamas. That was rare, though.

She says she usually runs a tight ship.

"Like my mother, she taught me to always save things for a rainy day and I’ve lived on that mentality because she went through the Great Depression. So, I live like I’m going through the Great Depression," she says.

Rosalind Morris' home, which is included in the American Institute of Architects Guide to New York City because of the terra-cotta, stained glass, elliptical arches and Byzantine columns (Stephen Nessen/WNYC)

Much of the housing in the eight blocks that make up Census Tract 267 dates to well before the Depression, and the neighborhood has a 19th century charm.

There are six buildings in this tract that are included in the American Institute of Architects Guide to New York City: family homes made of red terra cotta, with stained glass, elliptical arches, and Byzantine columns, and there’s a neo-Renaissance townhouse. Director Steven Soderbergh even used a high school next to the tract that was once a hospital to shoot his latest TV series, the Knick, set at the turn of the century. While filming he filled the streets with dirt, old trolley cars and horse drawn buggies. The brownstones needed little altering.

Building painted for the set of Steven Soderbergh's The Knick (Stephen Nessen/WNYC)

While Rosalind Morris was born into the neighborhood, others, like Avi Frey, 32, his fiancée and their French bulldog, Ralphie, arrived just seven months ago. The public interest lawyers says they came because of the large apartments and neighborhood feel.

His second-story, one-bedroom walk-up is flooded with light from three windows that still have the original molding. Both Frey and his fiancée, a first year teacher, have law degrees and huge student loans. As a household, they’re more than double the median income for the neighborhood. But they can hardly afford to live there.

"Spending $2,000 a month, it’s a very short-sighted financial approach," Frey admits. "It doesn’t permit the type of savings that would allow us to buy a home," he said. 

Frey says they eat almost every meal at home, and are pretty frugal, only splurging on $120 dinners twice a month. They aren’t making any long term plans.

"The sad thing is, as much as we love this neighborhood, by the time we’re ready to purchase, whenever that might be, this neighborhood, we’ll be priced out of," Frey says. "I don’t know what the next Bed-Stuy is, I don’t know if we’ll be looking at East New York at that point, or something like that. It won't be here."

Avi Frey and his dog Ralphie (Stephen Nessen/WNYC)

No one tracks the affordability of the neighborhood like Ban Leow. He's a real estate broker for Evans & Nye which, he says, bears some responsibility for the skyrocketing cost of homes.

"A lot of middle class people are looking for homes around here, it also seems they’re being priced out," he says, speaking from his gleaming office with exposed brick and Edison bulbs in the window. "The vigorous activity of Bed-Stuy became suddenly so hot, we are partly the reason for it as well."

Leow's office is also located in this census tract. The real estate agent claims to have broken records, closing a three-family home for $1.85 million and a four family for $1.45 million. Not exactly middle-class prices.

"Brokers are always the person that brings the right people in, creates this vibrant mix of people, and hence business will come in, prices will go up and you are liked by some, hated by many," he admits.

Evans & Nye’s mortgage banker, Joe Spinelli, helps people get financing and says he hasn't qualified a single person who makes less than $100,000 in this neighborhood for a loan.

"I don’t want to say a majority, but a high percentage of people who are from here, and have been living here, not just recently, would not be able buy in today’s market. Absolutely no way, absolutely not," he says.

A home in Bedford-Stuyvesant, Brooklyn on Hancock Street, which is included in the AIA Guide to New York City because of its Pompeian-red-terra-cotta and brick (Stephen Nessen/WNYC)

Lisa Tompson, 42, feels lucky she got in early. Her Innervision Beauty Salon has been on the neighborhood’s commercial hub on Tompkins Avenue for more than 17 years. She grew up in this tract and owns the building where she lives.

"I’m really here to see all the changes that’s been made. And it’s for the better. You invite different businesses, different kinds of people. It’s a good thing. I like it," she says, pausing for a second. "Yeah." 

While she says she’s middle class, she's getting a lift by renting out one of her apartments. She’s still making about the median income, and feels the economic pressure every day. She’s hopeful Mayor Bill de Blasio will improve things.

"I think he’s going to be a lot better than the last mayor," she says, while braiding a customer's hair. "I believe that he’ll make different changes for everybody in general, for the middle class, and the no class."

Lisa Tompson, 42, owns her business and home in Bedford-Stuyvesant, Brooklyn. (Stephen Nessen/WNYC)

However, Tompson may not be around to see the changes. In the next five years she's hoping to move somewhere warmer, maybe in the South. Unlike her neighbor, Rosalind Morris, Tompson is ready to cash in on the booming Bed-Stuy market.

According to Census data, about 22 percent of the population in this tract moved in since 2010. And 43 percent moved in between 2000 and 2009. With rising rents and home prices, chances are good by the next Census that this tract will have a hard time remaining in the middle.

A mural outside of a building supply store on Halsey and Tompkins Ave. in this census tract (Stephen Nessen/WNYC)

A neo-Renaissance town house in Bedford-Stuyvesant, Brooklyn on Hancock Street, which is included in the AIA Guide to New York City. It was built for a successful Irish immigrant in the 1880s. (Stephen Nessen/WNYC)

Detailed stain glass on this historic building in Bedford-Stuyvesant, Brooklyn on Hancock Street (Stephen Nessen/WNYC)

Lots of New York City neighborhoods resemble living organisms — constantly changing. As newcomers move in, neighborhoods take shape. People move on, and places transform. This is Central Harlem now — like Lower Harlem a decade ago, the neighborhood near 147th Street and Bradhurst Avenue is in transition, undergoing gentrification.

According to the latest U.S. Census figures, Census Tract 259 in Central Harlem is one of five areas identified as closely matching New York City's median income, $51,865. Half of the households here make more than that; half make less. About a a third of the people in the area receive food stamps.

Residents are drawn to Jackie Robinson Park, a long, narrow stretch of trees and rocky cliffs that flows 10 blocks to the north. The park was developed more than a century ago as a playground. Now it boasts a pool and rec center that offers a cool respite in summer, with plenty of space for dog walking year round.

"When we moved here my Mom was like, you're going to live in Harlem? " said resident Kate Durham, walking her dog Texas one recent afternoon.

Jackie Robinson Park in Central Harlem draws both new and old residents. (Amy Pearl/WNYC)

Like many people, Durham's mother thinks of Harlem as a dangerous place.

"I feel totally safe," added Durham.

She's getting her Masters at Columbia Teachers College, and moved to 150th Street and Bradhurst Avenue with her boyfriend in 2012. 

"I think there are pockets of people who make more than $51,865, maybe not much more, but more, and pockets of people here who make less," said Durham.

The area has undergone tremendous change over the last decade, with the population almost doubling since 1980.

"This was a very poor neighborhood, as recently as 2000, the neighborhood’s median income was half that of the city, so the fact that it’s now at the median income for the city is really a remarkable change," said Vicki Been, Boxer Family Professor of Law, and Director, Furman Center for Real Estate and Urban Policy at New York University.

A block east, away from the park, Frederick Douglas Boulevard is a commercial strip where people visit the barber shop, do their laundry, or pick up takeout from a favorite spot.

"Now the middle class is moving in so it's kind of pushing us out, and the rent is getting higher," said Charles Gabriel, owner of Charles' Country Pan Fried Chicken.

Charles Gabriel has been frying chicken at his Central Harlem restaurant for 20 years. (Janet Babin/WNYC)

Gabriel has been serving up southern specialty food here for about 20 years. He is wary of the changes, and worries that his regulars, many who live in the nearby Polo Grounds Housing Project, will be unable to afford to live here in a few years.

"I'm low income, living paycheck to paycheck," said Sharon Allen, a customer grabbing food at Charles' Chicken.

Charles' Country Pan Fried Chicken Customer Sharon Allen grabs lunch before heading to work. (Amy Pearl/WNYC)

For many here, middle class splurges, like going out to dinner, are unfamiliar.

"My rent is my splurge," said Sharon Allen.

"A splurge? Like, what you mean?" said Polo Grounds resident Jason Eberhart who was standing outside watching traffic go by.

He lives on disability. His idea of feeling like he's made it is finally having his own apartment. That happened when his mother passed away and he took over hers.

"I try to stay positive," added Eberhart.

Central Harlem resident Jason Eberhart stays positive, bundled up against the cold. (Amy Pearl/WNYC)

Very few people outside of Brooklyn’s insular Orthodox Jewish community had likely ever heard of Relief Resources before December despite the fact the organization was one of the biggest recipients of lawmaker-directed discretionary funds.

That all changed when the Moreland Commission that Governor Andrew Cuomo appointed to look into public corruption released its report last month.

Described as "Illustration #1" was an unnamed nonprofit that didn’t appear to do any real work despite receiving $3 million in government funds in recent years thanks to friendly lawmakers. The New York Post and other outlets including WNYC quickly identified the organization as Relief Resources, a Borough Park-based nonprofit with the stated mission of helping the Orthodox Jewish community access mental health services.

The report was damning. It said investigators used a pole camera to monitor the front of the organization’s building for almost a month and observed little foot traffic. They also subpoenaed phone records to the organization and found “the overwhelming majority of calls were very brief, raising questions about how substantive the calls can actually be,” according to the report.

After the report came out, WNYC teamed up with the Jewish Daily Forward to take a closer look at the allegations and Relief.

We found an organization formed by a political operative. At times Relief blurred the line between its lobbyist founder's political activities and the organization's charitable mission. But the nonprofit appears to be respected by mental health professionals and it provides legitimate services to a community where mental illness was long stigmatized.

“I don’t know why these people have gone after them the way they have,” said Margaret Spinelli, an associate professor of psychiatry at Columbia University and a member of Relief’s medical advisory board. “I have the utmost respect for the organization.”

Other prominent doctors on Relief’s advisory board and some with no apparent connection to the organization echoed the sentiment and said Relief helped get people mental health care in a community where such treatment was long stigmatized.

To be sure, it’s not surprising a commission looking at public corruption might glance at Relief. The organization was founded in part by Rabbi Shiya Ostreicher, a prominent lobbyist and member of the ultra-Orthodox community. Relief paid $15,000 in recent years to lobby for a child tax credit that had nothing to do with mental health. Records show a city council campaign paid another Ostreicher-related organization for voter registration work. The address listed for the organization in campaign finance filings was the same as Relief’s.

And there are questions about some affiliated nonprofits and the work they do. For example, a home for mentally ill girls affiliated with Relief was never certified with the state Office of Mental Health – a requirement for most homes that provide mental health treatment. A spokesman for the organization insisted they got a legal analysis prior to opening the donor-funded home that suggested no license was necessary. But he never provided the analysis despite repeated requests.

But even those question marks don’t explain the Moreland Commission’s focus nor its findings. The commission effectively accused Relief of not existing and, by all accounts, it does.

Michael Tobman, a Brooklyn-based political consultant who regularly works with the Hasidic community, said Relief’s issues seemed like administrative and paperwork issues – not malfeasance.

“I strongly believe there’s no malice involved, no ill intent but rather administrative sloppiness,” said Tobman, a former senior aide to US Senator Charles Schumer. “These are people who – operatives and advocates who in years past understood procedural niceties and crossing t’s and dotting i’s in terms of administrative structure were something people didn’t pay terribly much attention to and now it’s something people take very seriously.”

In the wake of the investigation, Relief has brought on PLA Communications – which was formed by a former aide to Assembly Speaker Sheldon Silver – to handle media inquiries.

A former deputy state attorney general, Avi Schick, is representing Relief on the legal front. He said it’s not clear how the organization wound up in the commission’s crosshairs.

“We don’t know where it came from. The good news is we’re confident it’s unfounded,” Schick said.

A spokeswoman for the Moreland Commission said she couldn’t comment for this story because the investigation is ongoing.