Woman who killed baby in 1986 sentenced to probation in cold case DNA probe
Janita Phillips, 65, of Lake Mary, Florida, was charged with murder in 2021, after police said new DNA testing linked her to the crime. She pleaded guilty to a lesser manslaughter charge in April.
The probation sentence was unusual in a child homicide case, but warranted because a peer-reviewed psychological assessment concluded Phillips experienced 'extreme emotional distress' at the time of the killing, both the prosecutor and defense lawyer said. Judge Gary White in Stamford, Connecticut, called it a case deserving mercy.
When Phillips killed the infant, she and her husband had just moved into an apartment in Greenwich, Connecticut, with their eldest child after being homeless and her husband had told her he didn't want another baby, her lawyer, Stephen DeLeo, said. The couple, who remain together and have been married for 42 years, were stressed about money and their ability to feed their family, DeLeo said.
Phillips told police she hid the pregnancy from her husband and other relatives, an arrest warrant said. Police said her husband did not know about the baby's death and had no involvement.
Phillips and her husband have three children who are now adults. One of their sons is disabled and resides at an assistant living facility, while her husband has medical problems and she takes care of him, DeLeo said in an interview.
'Incarcerating her would serve no purpose at this time,' DeLeo said, adding that this case was Phillips' only brush with the law in her life. He also said she lost her insurance industry job because of the case.
Phillips cried during the sentencing hearing and said she had a 'deep sense of regret.' She also said she took full responsibility, DeLeo said. Under her sentence, if she violates probation she could face up to 20 years in prison.
The newborn child, named Baby John by police, was found dead in a garbage truck on May 16, 1986, after workers had emptied a dumpster at the apartment building in Greenwich where Phillips lived, authorities said. The chief medical examiner's office determined the baby was strangled shortly after being born and ruled his death a homicide.
Phillips and her family moved to Florida shortly after the baby's death, police said.
Greenwich police said they used newly available DNA testing in 2020 that linked evidence found at the crime scene to the boy's mother. Police took items out of the trash and recycling at Phillips' Florida home in 2020. DNA testing showed Phillips and her husband were the parents of the infant, authorities said.
Hashtags
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
CNET
15 minutes ago
- CNET
Don't Overthink It. That Suspicious Link May Actually Be a Scam
If you get a random text asking you to click a link, it's probably a scam. Getty/Karl Tapales Whether you blame artificial intelligence or data breaches, most of us are receiving phishing emails and texts more often than before. At the same time, scam links are getting harder to spot, which is bad news for victims who mistakenly click on a malicious URL while living their busy lives. Phishing and spoofing scams led to more than $70 million in losses in 2024, according to the FBI's Internet Crime Complaint Center. Many links include standard "https" encryption and domains similar to legitimate websites in order to trick everyday people. If you click on a scam link, you could suffer monetary losses. But you may also give up very sensitive information like your name and credit card information to scammers or even risk malware being downloaded onto your device. How to identify scam links Scam links are regularly found in phishing emails, text messages or other communications sent by cybercriminals. They're designed to fool you into downloading malware or bringing you to a fake website to steal your personal identifying information. Some examples of popular phishing scams include unpaid toll, gold bar and employment scams. Criminals typically send these links out en masse -- often aided by artificial intelligence. Enough people fall victim to phishing scams every year that con artists find it worth their while to follow the same playbook. Here's how to avoid taking the bait. Check the URL "Smartphones do their best to block scam links, so attackers use tricks to make their links clickable," said Joshua McKenty, CEO of a cybersecurity company that helps businesses protect mobile phones and call centers from AI-driven phishing scams. For example, you'll want to watch for an "@" sign in the URL, or you might have two different URLs "glued together" by a question mark, he added. Especially if the first URL is a or an link. Dave Meister, a cybersecurity spokesman for global cybersecurity company Check Point, added that you may be able to hover over the URL to reveal the actual destination. People should also look out for "typo-squatting," when the URL looks authentic, but it has "PayPa1" instead of "PayPal." That should tip you off that it's a bad link. Remember the URLs you frequently visit It would behoove everyone to pay attention to the URLs they visit often. "Major brands, especially banks and retailers, don't often change up their domain names," McKenty said. "If the link says it's likely safe. If it says, stay away." Be suspicious of short links Short links are often in texts and on social media. "Sadly, there's no safe way to check a shortened URL," McKenty said. He recommended not clicking on them. " or "shorturl" links often have standard " encryption, which make them appear trustworthy. In these cases, it's best to read the message itself and pay attention to any threatening language or pressure to act immediately to identify the scam. How are scam links sent to victims? Text scams Ironically, these don't always rely on website links. In fact, phone numbers are a frequent vehicle used in scammers' phishing attempts, according to McKenty. "People get tricked into clicking a phone number that's not actually their bank or the IRS, and then surrendering identity information on the phone," he said. If you think you got a message from a scammer, as tempting as it is to mess with them, do your best to resist. If you interact with the scammer, they may want to circle back knowing that you're reachable. Email scams Emails can also have scam links. McKenty said that while clicking on phone numbers and links in texts is happening more frequently, "the biggest dollar losses are still the classic email scams." He suggests copying any link you see into a notes app so that you can properly inspect it before clicking. QR code scams Sometimes, scams can even be embedded into a QR code. "QR codes have become the new stealth weapon, used everywhere from restaurant menus to parking meters," said Meister. "Scammers are known to slap fake codes on top of real ones in public, or embed them in phishing emails, linking to cloned websites or malware downloads," he said. Before you scan, make sure the QR code makes sense. If it's on the side of a gas pump, on a random park bench or in an unrecognized email, it's better to avoid it. Social media direct messages Chances are, you've run into these scam links. Sometimes social media accounts get compromised by cybercriminals posing as people you know. If your "uncle" sends you a direct message while sounding like a pushy timeshare salesman, telling you to check out this investment opportunity by clicking on a link, call your uncle first. What if I already clicked a link? If you clicked on a scam link, a number of things could happen. If you have software protecting your device, the firewall probably blocked it. If you don't have software protecting you from computer viruses and malware, then you might have a problem. Try these tips if you think you might've clicked on a phishing link: Get anti-virus software. If you don't already have anti-virus software that can help rid your laptop or desktop of viruses, you should get one. There are plenty of free and paid options to choose from. If you don't already have anti-virus software that can help rid your laptop or desktop of viruses, you should get one. There are plenty of free and paid options to choose from. Be aware of malware. Your phone isn't immune to malware. Scam links are often designed to trick somebody into downloading malware, which can then give the scammer access to your phone. If your phone is infected with malware, do not access any financial apps. Instead, clear your browser cache, remove any apps you don't recognize, or try a factory reset. If you're really stuck, you could also call your phone's tech support. Your phone might be slow or unresponsive and you may see increased pop-up ads if it's infected. Your phone isn't immune to malware. Scam links are often designed to trick somebody into downloading malware, which can then give the scammer access to your phone. If your phone is infected with malware, do not access any financial apps. Instead, clear your browser cache, remove any apps you don't recognize, or try a factory reset. If you're really stuck, you could also call your phone's tech support. Your phone might be slow or unresponsive and you may see increased pop-up ads if it's infected. Contact your bank or credit card issuer. If you've been visiting your bank website or app on a compromised device, to be safe, let your financial institution know. If you've been visiting your bank website or app on a compromised device, to be safe, let your financial institution know. Contact the authorities. If you clicked on a spam link and were scammed out of money, report it to the Federal Trade Commission so they can spread the word about the scam. You'll also want to call your police department and anyone else you can think of. The more people are aware of a scam, the less likely they'll fall for it.
CNN
16 minutes ago
- CNN
He robbed 24 banks and now counsels other offenders. But don't call his life a redemption story
Joe Loya stepped into a San Diego bank just before closing with his fedora pulled low, his trench coat brushing his pants and his eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses. He approached a teller and slid a note under the glass. The teller read it and froze. 'We have a bomb. I have a gun. Give me the money!' it read. The teller hesitated. 'Now!' he hissed. Loya stuffed $4,500 into a fanny pack, ran a few blocks, hailed a taxi and disappeared. And with that, his life as a bank robber in the late 1980s began. Within a one-year stretch, he robbed about two dozen banks across Southern California – netting a quarter-million dollars — without ever firing the .357 Magnum he kept tucked in his waistband. 'I'm not jumping over the counter. I'm not gonna shoot them. I'm not gonna pistol-whip them,' he told CNN. 'I have to (be) persuasive enough with my rage to get them to do it.' During the robberies, he switched up his look – a suit one day, shorts the next. Some days, he traded the fedora for a baseball cap. Other times, he wore layers of clothes and peeled them off as he fled. But the sunglasses stayed on. Investigators, mistaking his dark hair and olive skin for a Middle Eastern person, nicknamed him the 'Beirut Bandit.' But Loya, a private-school educated, Mexican-American who loved Russian history and science fiction, was not easily pigeonholed. And before he started robbing banks, he'd once stabbed his father, an evangelical minister, with a steak knife in retaliation for years of physical abuse. Betrayed by a girlfriend, Loya was arrested in May 1989 while waiting for her on the UCLA campus. He was 27. He pleaded guilty to three robberies — police couldn't conclusively tie him to the others — and served seven years in prison before his release in July 1996. Loya has spent the last three decades confronting his criminal past. He wrote a memoir, 'The Man Who Outgrew His Prison Cell,' and is the subject of a new podcast, 'Get the Money and Run,' bringing his story to a new generation. As part of his journey, he's gone back into prisons to teach inmates to own their stories and use them for positive change. He's also spent hours asking himself: Where did it begin? What led him to a life of crime? He's embraced every aspect of his messy life, violence and all. But don't call his a redemption story. 'I think redemption is only part of the story. Only one,' he said. 'To ascribe only one theme is to flatten me as a character, deny my human complexity.' Loya's father was a Southern Baptist minister. At the family's home in East Los Angeles, religion shaped every aspect of their lives, he said. As a boy, Loya would belt out the children's hymn, 'Jesus Loves Me, This I Know,' on cue for family and strangers alike. The first time he watched a movie about the crucifixion of Jesus, he broke down in tears. Loya's parents got married at 16, and his mother recorded her firstborn's milestones in a baby book. One entry captured young Joe's fiery nature: He has a temper. I guess he takes after his father. Father and son would later fulfill that prophecy in unimaginable ways. Loya's childhood, he said, alternated between moments of joy and dread. Sometimes his father would get down on all fours and pretend to be a horse as Joe and his younger brother gleefully climbed onto his back. But the lightness and laughter could vanish quickly. Joe Loya Sr. demanded perfection and used violence to get it, his son said. 'I had to memorize my multiplication tables. My dad would do this thing where he wanted us to be the smartest kids in the class because we were scholarship kids and we were the brown kids,' Loya said. 'He wanted us to be better and smarter than the other kids.' His father gave him math tests after work and whooped him with a belt for any questions missed, he said. At the time, Loya's mother was dying of kidney disease. The pain of slowly watching his mother deteriorate, along with his fear and resentment of his father, festered quietly, he said. 'As my dad was beating me and I was taking each blow, there's a different energy that builds up inside of you … the animosity, the negativity, that stuff. It changes your molecules, rearranges you and gives you power,' he said. 'I was getting stronger. I was not getting weaker.' His mother died when he was 9, leaving Joe and his brother without a protector. The abuse escalated, he said. Loya's father, 80, is in poor health and was unavailable to speak with CNN. But in the podcast and in previous interviews, he has confessed to beating his two children. One night when Joe was 16, everything changed. After an especially vicious beating, he said he grabbed a steak knife from the kitchen and stabbed his father in the neck. 'He started screaming, 'Oh, you killed me, you killed me!'' Loya said. His father had a transformational moment as well. 'I kept saying give it (knife) to me, I'm not gonna hurt you anymore,' Loya Sr. said in the podcast. 'And then it hit me — 'He didn't stab you — you made him stab you. You treated him that way. We're here because of you …' 'It was my moment of clarity,' he said, his voice cracking with emotion. 'I thought of his mother. I let her down. And I swore then I would change.' His children were briefly placed in foster care. But Loya had finally flipped the script on his dad. He said he felt like David after toppling Goliath, like he'd finally broken free from his abuse. He also learned that violence could give him control. No longer eager to please his father, Loya's connection to religion started unraveling. He felt strong, empowered. He started engaging in petty crimes – stealing cars, falsifying his time sheet at the Pasadena restaurant where he worked as a cook, and defrauding friends and members of his dad's congregation, he said. Then he learned about Mexican bandit and revolutionary leader Pancho Villa, who in the early 1900s robbed banks, trains and the wealthy across northern Mexico and the southwestern US. 'I was like, you know, I'm going to do that,' he said. 'I'm going to rob a bunch of banks.' After he counted his stolen stack of bills in a motel following his first bank robbery, he was hooked. 'Nearly $4,500 felt glorious,' he said. 'It was like, I don't have to be a petty criminal ever again. I never have to defraud anybody. I get to be honorable now, except for this one bank robber thing.' Loya took his new criminal career seriously, scouting out locations near highways for quick getaways. Sometimes he robbed a bank on foot or hopped into a taxi, slipping away as everyone searched for a getaway car. On other days, he'd use his Mazda RX-7. Sometimes he'd target several banks in a day, he said. His biggest haul was about $33,000 from a federal savings bank in Tustin, California. That was in January 1989, according to court records. Three months later, the FBI finally identified him after an armored car driver spotted his license plate as he fled a bank robbery in Camarillo, California. The FBI reached out to Loya's girlfriend, warning her she could be prosecuted as an accomplice because of the money she got from him – unless she helped bring him down. 'Good healthy advice. I have never begrudged her,' Loya said. She told the FBI that Loya was planning to drop by UCLA, where she was a student, to give her some money before fleeing to Mexico like his hero, Villa. On May 13, 1989, as he sipped a cappuccino on a bench waiting for his girlfriend on the UCLA campus, a young man approached and said, 'Joe Loya?' He instinctively answered yes. The man turned out to be one of several FBI agents scattered across campus, searching for him. At first, prison didn't change him. Loya said he kept up his criminal activity behind bars, including smuggling drugs and assaulting other inmates. He believed violence would earn him respect in prison, too. He spent two years in solitary confinement at a federal penitentiary in Lompoc, California, after stabbing another inmate. Forced into long periods of silence, he reflected on his turbulent life. And he began exchanging letters with his father. More than four decades later, Loya makes no apologies about his heists. 'Banks are insured. They're fine. They make a lot of money off people,' he said. But one aspect of his robberies bothers him to this day. 'The thing that haunted me, that gave me shame, that made me feel guilty, was robbing the tellers — the trauma that I put them through,' he said. He's never attempted to locate the tellers, whose names were listed in court documents. And he doesn't plan to, he said. 'I believe that I did hurt people in some ways worse than if I punched them or kicked them when they were on their knees,' he said. Asking for a meeting with his victims is like robbing them all over again, he said. 'I ambushed them with my emotional incontinence,' he said. 'I deposited in front of them all my rage, my confusion, desperation, resentment. I just dumped it all in front of them. And I got money for it, while they had to deal with the aftermath.' Because of his income from his book and podcast, some critics have accused him of capitalizing on his criminal past. But no amount of money can make up for his personal trauma since his mother died, he said. 'To profit is to make more than what you spent to create the thing of value,' he said. 'So no, there has been no profit earned back yet.' Loya, 63, now lives in Berkeley, California, where he works as a writer and a podcaster. For the divorced father of a teenage daughter, his violent past is never far behind. He's in therapy to deal with it. One thing has brought him joy over the years, he said: working with former and current inmates. He's collaborated with author Piper Kerman, whose 'Orange is the New Black' memoir inspired the Netflix series by the same name – to share human stories behind prison walls. Loya sent Kerman a letter while she was serving a year in prison for drug trafficking and money laundering, and the two have been friends ever since. 'He was the only one person who was writing to me who had themselves been incarcerated,' she said. 'He knew how difficult life in prison can be and how important writing is to keep your brain and your heart alive.' Over the years, the pair have hosted workshops and writing classes in state prisons and elsewhere to highlight the power of storytelling. 'It's a strange thing when you talk about an experience as traumatic and shameful and dangerous as being incarcerated. But Joe does it with a great sense of humor,' Kerman told CNN. 'And when it's clear a person has done that work, it's easier for them to forge that sense of connection with a broad array of people. And that's certainly true for Joe.' Rosario Zatarain, who was in prison for drugs and armed robbery, also tries to live by that. She met Loya in June 2008 when he spoke at the California Institution for Women as part of the Chino facility's drug rehabilitation program. 'I saw him and thought, this guy's not a bank robber. He looks like a bank teller,' she said. She was taken aback by how easily he shared his story. She stayed in touch with him, hoping to learn how to come to terms with parts of her life she'd struggled to accept. Zatarain was paroled a year later, and Loya became her mentor as she navigated post-prison life. She felt insecure about her criminal past and struggled to get a job, fearful that her tattoos and background would lead people to judge her, she said. Now, as a drug and alcohol counselor, Zatarain proudly showcases her tattoos and uses her past battle with meth to connect with others. Thanks to Loya, she's not just owned her past — she's rewritten it, she said. 'In Joe, I saw somebody who used his downfall … what everybody else judges you for — as his superpower,' she said. 'Joe helped me see that people like us belong in society, too. He would be like, 'No we don't want to be good enough in their eyes. We want to be good enough in our eyes, and that's all that matters.'' The day Loya walked out of prison, his father greeted him with a cake glazed in thick white frosting. 'Welcome Home Joey,' it read in blue letters. Determined to start afresh, the two men opened up about their fears and learned how shattered they both were by the loss of Loya's mother. The scar on his dad's neck from the stabbing became a symbol of their shared trauma. 'We've spent years repairing the damage I caused — rebuilding the family I nearly destroyed. It's been slow, deliberate work. But we've done it with love. And that's the story I carry forward — one I tell with honesty and care,' the younger Loya said. Before his father's recent illness, they visited prisons together to share their story of forgiveness. They dug deep into their anger and pain, and how it took over their lives. 'For me to change, I had to develop a lot of compassion for myself and for him. And then I started reviewing my life. Why did I do this?' the younger Loya said. He said he found an answer. 'I was wounded, I was scared, I was insecure. I didn't feel safe,' he said. If Loya could talk to his younger self, he said he wouldn't bother warning him to stay away from crime. He knew it was wrong, he said, but he considered it an escape from a violent father. Instead, he'd tell young Joe to lean into his passion for writing and use it to make sense of his complicated life, he said. 'When someone's hurting, you don't just tell them to stop,' he said. 'You meet them with compassion and help them find a way through.' Loya is now working on another memoir in the form of letters to his 19-year-old daughter, Matilde. Given his past, fatherhood didn't come easy. 'I did not want to have a child (at first), because I feared I'd be like my dad,' he said. His daughter has given him another chance to rewrite his story. And this time, he said, the violence ends with him.
New York Times
16 minutes ago
- New York Times
Should I Blow the Whistle in a Hiring Process Biased in My Favor?
I have been out of work for four months. I recently had an interview for a management-level position in my field, during which the interviewer asked a number of questions regarding my marital status, parental status and spouse's occupation. I've spent most of my career in management, and the questions are clearly inappropriate and at odds with civil rights protections. I answered the questions, because I knew the responses would be in my favor: I'm a middle-aged guy whose spouse works remotely and son is in college. I'm aware of an internal candidate for the job, a younger mother of two school-age children, and the interviewer made comments about divided responsibilities and time commitments. I kind of need the job, which raises two scenarios. In the first, I withdraw from the process. Should I notify the internal candidate of the legal violation, because I suspect (although have not confirmed) that the same questions were asked of her? In the second, I accept the position. How should I deal with the other candidate, who would be my subordinate, knowing that a likely E.E.O.C. violation tainted my hire? And additionally, should I notify the E.E.O.C. myself, regardless of whether I continue with this company? — Name Withheld From the Ethicist: If you're thinking about taking action, you would be wise to talk with an employment lawyer. But the questions you mention plainly have no place in a job interview. And the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission's guidelines are explicit about this: Such questions 'may be regarded as evidence of intent to discriminate.' Let's assume, in any case, that your suspicion is justified: that the company's questions crossed a line and did so not out of clumsy curiosity but in a way that tilted the scales against the internal candidate, a younger mother with two school-age kids. Maybe, as you have reason to wonder, the interviewer pressed her on whether she would be able to handle the job with her 'divided responsibilities.' This could well count as evidence of discrimination. Yet if you got the offer, you still couldn't be sure that it was because you were judged the 'safe' candidate. You don't actually know what happened in her interview or how management was weighing the candidates. Maybe you were always going to be the preferred pick, for reasons that have nothing to do with family logistics. Suppose, though, that you're offered the job, and it's clear that the process was wrongly stacked in your favor. The moral calculus gets thornier. Is it right to accept a job you need and are qualified for if you know the offer was tainted by bias? Turning down such a position is an especially steep price for you to pay. The internal candidate keeps her job, even if she loses out on the better one she was hoping for. That's significant, but it's not quite the same as going without a paycheck. If you were positive that you were offered the job because of unlawful discrimination, I would tell you to decline and notify both the internal candidate and the E.E.O.C. what happened. The company should be held to account and made to reform its ways. 'Conference, conciliation and persuasion' — the usual E.E.O.C. route — happens only if someone calls out the wrongdoing. But right now you don't have that certainty. Given this, I don't think you need to torch your own prospects. You may take the job if it's offered. Once you're a manager, you'll treat your subordinate with the respect she deserves. You don't owe her a confession about your suspicions, if suspicions are all you have. What you do owe her, and every colleague, is to push for a culture where these questions are never asked of job applicants again. A Bonus Question A couple of years ago, I learned that my uncle sexually abused his three daughters when they were young. As someone who was also a victim of sexual abuse as a child, I find his actions deeply appalling on many levels. Whenever he calls my mother, she accepts his calls, most likely because he's her brother, but keeps them short. My father is currently in palliative care, and we're expecting his passing soon. Although I do not want my uncle to attend the funeral, my mother won't exclude him, even though he was excluded from his own wife's funeral. Is it acceptable for me to ignore him, as my sister-in-law plans to do? I'm uncertain about how my uncle will be received by his remaining siblings, and I don't want the funeral to become a day remembered for the wrong reasons. — Name Withheld From the Ethicist: Your sister-in-law has the right idea. This isn't an occasion for your appalling relative to be affirmed or accepted, but neither is it an occasion for confronting him. Don't let the day become about this man. The focus should be on the person you're mourning. Readers Respond The previous question was from a reader who is tired of a friend talking about wanting to escape the country's current political climate by moving abroad. She wrote: I have a wealthy friend (not billions, but well over $20 million) who talks almost incessantly about leaving the country because of her and her family's concerns about the current political situation. Nearly every week, it's another 'Check this one out!' — always accompanied by a link to a villa in the south of France or a seaside four-bedroom condo overlooking the coast of Spain. I'm not the sort to let money drive a relationship; I don't defer to wealthy people, and I wouldn't expect deference if the roles were reversed. So how do you navigate things when you're simply tired of hearing the same conversation on wash, rinse, repeat? I can't just say: 'Stop. Your friends with less money don't want to hear it.' That would only create anger. But 'Have you thought about how these comments affect others?' feels condescending. I'm not sure it's appropriate to tell her to stop, or how to do it. — Name Withheld In his response, the Ethicist noted: I can imagine other misgivings you might have about these upscale escape fantasies. When the political weather in your country turns threatening, there's much to be said for staying put, if you safely can, and trying to make things better. Given her resources, your friend might wrest herself from the Sotheby's International Realty website and spend more time reviewing political campaigns that could benefit from her backing. … You don't have to make it a confrontation. There are plenty of ways to signal the realities she's exasperatingly deaf to. The next time she sends you a link to a coastal villa, you might respond with a listing for a studio apartment in a Communist-era block in Bucharest — ample stair climbing, intermittent hot water and panoramic views of concrete — explaining that it better fits your budget. If she's miffed for a minute, that's the price of honesty. And a small one, surely, compared to that spread in Cap Ferrat. Reread the full question and answer here. ⬥ The recommendation that the writer shoot back an equally inappropriate rental suggestion was just petty and passive-aggressive, serving only to irk, if not confuse, the clueless wealthy friend. Honesty among friends is always best. — Bonnie ⬥ I agree that the writer's friend's 'humble brag' is obnoxious and out of touch. I've had friends and relatives like this (in a different tax bracket) over the years who have consistently mentioned vacations that they knew I could never afford as a single mom. I came to wonder if their intentions were really that innocent. To me, it did start to feel meanspirited and condescending … 'nice nasty,' as my grandmother used to call it. Hmmm. Maybe the writer should find some more sensitive friends? — Pier ⬥ Not a fan of the passive-aggressive solution the Ethicist suggests. Better to be straightforward and have an honest conversation with the clueless friend. Something on the order of: 'Deciding to leave our country rather than remaining and working to improve things is absolutely your right. Still, for those of us not inclined to seek that solution, regardless of our personal reasons, we just can't get into your weekly searches. Could you wait until you've actually found your dream home and share that with us? Sharing your joy and the start of your new adventure is something we can celebrate with you.' A polite way of saying, 'We're just not into your ongoing real estate search.' — Emme ⬥ I love what the Ethicist suggests about sending her friend the picture of a meager apartment in Bucharest. That's good! But I don't understand what's wrong with what the writer herself came up with: 'Stop. Your friends with less money don't want to hear it.' I think that is a direct and genuine response with just the right amount of pique. —Mary Anne ⬥ I think the suggestion that the questioner respond with an 'idealized post-communist flat' was misguided. I think a better suggestion would be to respond with a more modest listing in a nonexotic location that reflects both the economic realities of the questioner and the realities of European life at that finance level. — Brian ⬥ To me, the issue is not what exotic locale to flee to, it's the focus on fleeing, and on that being something some of us may aspire to. My suggested response would be, 'Whatever the situation is, I'm not moving, so please don't send me any more real estate suggestions.' — Linda
