UNM purchases crime-ridden Motel 6, a step forward in revitalizing South Campus
UNM regents last month acquired the Motel 6 on Avenida Cesar Chavez for $5 million following years of what officials described as criminal activity that posed a threat to the safety of students and the surrounding community. Demolishing the motel, university officials say, is a key step toward redeveloping the area into a vibrant hub for food, retail and housing.
"I can't understate the importance of removing that property from the area in terms of reduction in criminal activity," Tom Neale, UNM's director of real estate and interim executive director for Lobo Development Corp., told the Journal. "What we found after we acquired the property just reinforced all that we've heard about."
Among the university's discoveries were vandalized rooms and evidence of recent manufacturing of methamphetamine, Neale said. A report shared by Lobo Development Corp. officials, put together by the Albuquerque Police Department, shows nearly 300 police calls — 150 for violent crimes, 124 for property crimes — from 2019 through 2024.
Criminal activity at the property and potential solutions have been on the university's radar for years.
The property is now in the hands of the Lobo Development Corp., UNM's private development arm and master developer of its South Campus Tax Increment Development District, or TIDD. The TIDD incentivizes growth on land that UNM owns by giving developers a share of future tax revenue for their investment into the land's public infrastructure.
The corporation will handle demolishing the 22,224-square-foot motel and marketing the site to developers looking to bring projects to the area.
Neale said demolishing the motel should eliminate much of the crime threat, but that officials also have plans in place for future crime mitigation.
"I don't envision that we will sell any of those parcels," Neale said. "We will either develop those parcels along (Avenida) Cesar Chavez ourselves or build-to-suit agreements or potentially ground leases."
He added that UNM can restrict what uses are brought in and ensure "any use we put in that area will have a benefit and not bring any element or use ... that's adverse to our goals."
Neale, who has been with UNM for 19 years, said the site is designated for commercial development and will likely bring in restaurants, retail or a combination of both.
"This area of Albuquerque is really, really underserved with retail and restaurants, Neale said. "We're starting to see a lot of interest in our lands at South Campus."
He added, "Coming out of COVID and the COVID hangover, now retailers and restaurants are starting to focus on development opportunities again, and we're seeing that in South Campus."
Some of the university's land was sold to Raising Cane's and a site on Gibson is currently under contract with In-N-Out Burger, Neale said, adding he expects the In-N-Out transaction to close in May.
Neale said the corporation has many more developments in the works and that removing Motel 6 is an important piece in moving UNM's vision for development and creating a revitalized gateway into South Campus.
The timeline of the Motel 6 site's development will depend on the market. But UNM is "targeting a transformational development in that corridor over the next few years," Neale said.
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New York Post
14 minutes ago
- New York Post
How the ‘social justice' movement distorted what Kyle Rittenhouse really did
Five summers ago, with no end to the coronavirus pandemic in sight and a pent-up desire to rebel against the spectacle of police violence in the wake of George Floyd's videotaped death, cities across the country exploded in rioting and arson. With the confluence of the threat of COVID-19, the ongoing racial reckoning, and the specter of President Trump's re-election campaign rendering even the smallest considerations and disagreements hyper-partisan, the nation's media, political and cultural institutions grew single-mindedly focused on an overly simplistic story of 'social justice' and 'antiracism.' In 'Summer of Our Discontent: The Age of Certainty and the Demise of Discourse,' (Knopf, out August 5) Thomas Chatterton Williams, a staff writer at The Atlantic, paints a clear and detailed picture of the pivotal ideas and events that paved the way for the dramatic paradigm shift that changed the country in the summer of 2020 and helped make possible the astonishing backlash still unfolding today. Here, an excerpt. When a doughy 17-year-old named Kyle Rittenhouse, too young to purchase the AR-15 he'd strapped across himself, ventured from his home in Antioch, Ill., into the burning streets of Kenosha, Wis., he was doing many things simultaneously. He was placing himself in a deranged situation that shouldn't have unfolded to begin with. And, in doing so, his very armed presence became a further provocation, heightening the danger for himself and everyone around him. But he was also attempting, however misguidedly, to make his community safer. 7 In the summer of 2020, Kyle Rittenhouse, then 17, strapped on an AR-15 in an misguided attempt to keep Wisconsin streets safe. AP Advertisement On the morning of Aug. 25, 2020, two drastically divergent white lives inched inexorably closer to conflict. As Rittenhouse took up with a makeshift cleanup crew, Joseph Rosenbaum was discharged from the Aurora psychiatric hospital, outside Milwaukee. A deeply troubled 36-year-old with an extensive criminal record — including recent domestic violence against his fiancée and prior sexual assault of minors — whom the hospital had deposited in the middle of Kenosha's pandemonium, Rosenbaum attempted to retrieve his belongings from the police station, only to find it shuttered because of the ongoing melee. He continued on to Walgreens to procure his medication, but the store had also been closed due to the protests. Meanwhile, Rittenhouse prepared to join another crew that evening at the Car Source auto lot, which had been set ablaze the previous evening. As night descended, Rosenbaum left the motel where his fiancée was living and Rittenhouse was filmed standing guard outside the dealership with a gathering group of armed men, people he describes as complete strangers who had also come to protect local businesses. Advertisement 7 Kenosha, Wisconsin, erupted in protests and flames after the shooting of James Blake. AFP via Getty Images Rittenhouse speaks affably with citizen journalists live streaming the protests on social media. 'People are getting injured, and our job is to protect this business, and part of my job is also to help people,' he says unaffectedly. 'If there's somebody hurt, I'm running into harm's way. That's why I have my rifle, because I need to protect myself obviously. But I also have my med kit.' Mid-conversation, he looks up and shouts, 'Medical, EMS right here, do you need assistance? I am an EMT,' and rushes out of frame. An hour before midnight, in the claustrophobic lot of the Ultimate Convenience Center, Rosenbaum emerges for the first time on video. Head shaved to a polish, fluorescent stud jutting from his earlobe, and a look of fury tinged on his troubled countenance, his compact figure berates and even butts into much larger men with long guns. Rosenbaum looks and sounds not fearless but reckless. 'Don't point no motherf–king gun at me, homey!' he screams one moment before quickly changing tacks: 'Shoot me, n—a! Shoot me, n—a! Bust on me, n—a! For real!' he taunts the militia members without getting a rise, in the process embodying some of the strangest, most thoroughly American racial alchemy that is as familiar to me as it would be inscrutable to someone foreign born. Advertisement 7 The Kenosha protests were part of what Thomas Chatterton Williams dubs the 'Summer of Our Discontent,' which is the title of his new book. Thomas Brunot It is the kind of subtlety the blunt mainstream narrative around blackness, whiteness and antiracism is so ill-equipped to convey accurately, or even to recognize in the first place, and so it is ignored. I have seen no evidence in the hours of footage from that night to indicate the militiamen themselves had treated the protesters they encountered with racial prejudice. It is Rosenbaum alone who has deployed the n-word. But he does not do so pejoratively, at least not regarding black people. Many of the black men standing nearby register the epithet yet take no exception to it, even as they protectively move to restrain him — a white man who is out of control and in conflict solely with other white men. Soon Rosenbaum is shoving a flaming dumpster toward the idle gas pumps, as scores of bystanders do nothing, filming this act of patent lunacy from a distance. One young man has the sense to douse the flames with a fire extinguisher. Advertisement 7 Rittenhouse shot and killed two men. Joseph Rosenbaum (above), a deeply troubled 36-year-old with an extensive criminal record, was one of them. The professional police forces appear sporadically in armored vehicles and weakly address the combustible crowd through loudspeakers. Whereas Rittenhouse and the other armed civilians are physically present in the streets, inserting their bodies into the commotion, law enforcement officers are just as good as absent. Both Rittenhouse and Rosenbaum, who has now removed his shirt and wrapped it around his head like a desert nomad, are among the hundreds of men and women told to disperse on Sheridan Road, the main artery. 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Another three-round burst, and as the focus resumes, he remains standing and Rosenbaum has fallen. 7 Rittenhouse turned himself in, telling officers that he had 'shot two white kids.' AP Advertisement The latter's limp body is hoisted into an SUV. Rittenhouse makes a phone call, then begins to flee. The crowd has grown attuned to him in unison, with tragically imperfect information, reacting to the presence of what seems to be an active shooter, as rumor pulses through it. 'What did he do?' one man shouts, chasing after Rittenhouse, who stumbles onto his back in the middle of the thoroughfare. Four masked white men are upon him, one drop-kicking him in the chest before another smacks his head with a skateboard. Rittenhouse receives the blows and shoots the skater in the process, killing him. A third approaches, raising a handgun, and Rittenhouse fires another round, blowing apart his forearm. He stands. 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Thomas Chatterton Williams writes, 'In the context of the summer of 2020, what had happened among four white men could never be understood as unfortunate or tragic or even simply illegal; it was racist.' AP Advertisement 'Kenosha: Teen Charged with Murder After Two Black Lives Matter Protesters Killed,' read one headline in The Guardian. In the context of the summer of 2020, what had happened among four white men could never be understood as unfortunate or tragic or even simply illegal; it was racist. Rosenbaum had been elevated posthumously to the status of 'a Black Lives Matter activist.' The specific and complicated causes and effects that produced the awful violence of August 25 — all of which contradict the notion that these were primarily peaceful demonstrations — much like the particularities of the police shooting of Jacob Blake that had preceded it, had been reconfigured into a tidier narrative. Excerpted from 'Summer of Our Discontent: The Age of Certainty and the Demise of Discourse' (Knopf, August 5, 2025). Copyright © 2025 by Thomas Chatterton Williams
Newsweek
4 hours ago
- Newsweek
Five Years After the Beirut Port Explosion—Justice in the Courts Will Not Be Enough for Survivors
Advocates for ideas and draws conclusions based on the interpretation of facts and data. Newsweek AI is in beta. Translations may contain inaccuracies—please refer to the original content. The Lebanese have never seen accountability for any of the country's gravest crimes. Justice—when pursued at all—is politicized, obstructed, and often denied. Five years since the Beirut explosion, this legacy of impunity has become a national sin that cannot be forgiven. As Lebanon and the broader region push to recover from war and atrocities, justice must lead the rebuilding of statehood and the rule of law. Law Without Accountability—A History of Failed Practice For decades, Lebanon's most consequential crimes have gone unpunished. Thirty-five years after the 1982 assassination of President Bachir Gemayel, Syrian Socialist National Party (SSNP) operatives Nabil al-Alam and Habib Shartouni were sentenced to death in absentia. Under Syrian protection, the verdicts were never enforced, and both remain at large. No criminal trial followed the 1983 bombing of the United States Embassy by Hezbollah's Islamic Jihad arm; some victims' families could only pursue civil lawsuits against Iran in U.S. courts. The 1989 assassination of Lebanese President René Mouawad also never reached court. Citizens from across the country rushed to Beirut, despite the COVID-19 pandemic, to clear the rubble, sort through the wreckage, and find the missing. Citizens from across the country rushed to Beirut, despite the COVID-19 pandemic, to clear the rubble, sort through the wreckage, and find the missing. Photo courtesy of Rita Kabalan This cycle of unchecked crimes was challenged after the 2005 assassination of Prime Minister Rafik Hariri. Lebanon pushed for the unprecedented United Nations-backed special tribunal for Lebanon (STL). Despite judicial innovation, 14 years of legal proceedings, and over $ 1 billion in funding (49 percent paid by Lebanon), the masterminds were never convicted. Only co-perpetrators Salim Ayyash, Hassan Merhi, and Hussein Oneissi were sentenced to five concurrent life terms. Hezbollah refused to surrender them, and Lebanon had no power to enforce the rulings. The subsequent assassinations and attempted political killings also never saw court. Political weaponization ensured that justice remained hostage to a system willing to destroy a country rather than establish and enforce criminal responsibility. Israeli Extrajudicial Enforcement—Impunity Expanded In this vacuum of accountability, Israel executed extrajudicial strikes in its war against Hezbollah. On July 30 and September 20, 2024, 1983 co-perpetrators Ibrahim Aqil (Hezbollah's Radwan Force commander and head of operations) and Fuad Shukr were killed by Israeli precision drone strikes in Haret Hreik, Southern Beirut. On November 9, Hariri assassination co-perpetrator Salim Ayyash was killed by an Israeli airstrike in Syria. By adopting a policy of assassinating assassins, Israel sought international legitimacy, and perhaps even the quiet approval of some Lebanese. The court of public opinion usurped the courts of law. But Israel's actions significantly undermined international law and further eroded Lebanese sovereignty and credibility. Lebanon lost its chance to set legal precedent against decades of heinous crimes. The Beirut explosion ripped through Lebanon's capital on Aug. 4, 2020, devastating homes, cultural sites, places of worship, and more. The Beirut explosion ripped through Lebanon's capital on Aug. 4, 2020, devastating homes, cultural sites, places of worship, and more. Photo courtesy of Rita Kabalan Israel is instead authoring a dangerous new rulebook, normalizing "might is right" as the region's arbiter of justice. Even with a president and government, Lebanon remains disempowered, stripped of agency and avenues for accountability. Beyond Lebanon, this threatens the broader Middle East, weakening international legal norms and inviting state and non-state actors to bypass rule-based governance. A Chance To Exit Lebanon's Judicial Purgatory Justice for the Beirut explosion must take a different path. In a recent meeting with the victims' families, Lebanese President Joseph Aoun said, "From now on, justice will take its course, the responsible will be tried, and the innocent will be exonerated. ... We must uncover the whole truth and hold accountable those who caused this catastrophe." Yet, formidable obstacles persist. Judge Tarek Bitar's mandate is under threat, the general prosecutor is abusing power and obstructing the investigation, suspects have been released without trial, elected officials are still shielded from prosecution, judicial summons are routinely defied, critical evidence remains uncollected, and inaction continues to evade accountability. On Aug. 8, 2020, thousands rallied in Beirut, demanding justice after the port explosion and protesting government negligence. Security forces responded with tear gas, rubber bullets, and pellet rounds, injuring over 700 protesters. On Aug. 8, 2020, thousands rallied in Beirut, demanding justice after the port explosion and protesting government negligence. Security forces responded with tear gas, rubber bullets, and pellet rounds, injuring over 700 protesters. Photo courtesy of Rita Kabalan Without urgent, comprehensive reforms—lifting immunities, restoring full judicial independence, ensuring trial, and enforcing sentences—Lebanon's pursuit of justice remains pending in purgatory. But victims' families and survivors cannot wait for justice to only begin after Lebanon's state institutions are reclaimed and reformed. Unlike past assassinations, one of the world's largest non-nuclear explosions was not a case of targeted killings. It was an act of criminal negligence, culpable omission, and gross dereliction of duty—implicating some of the highest levels of the Lebanese state, Hezbollah, and their allies. Legal proceedings alone cannot deliver justice, accountability, and reparations. A credible path to justice requires that Hezbollah disarm, relinquish control over state institutions, and surrender their economic stranglehold. Today, Lebanon, more than ever, needs judicial innovation, state fortitude, and moral courage. The country has a rare chance to reclaim its sovereignty and define justice on terms set by survivors and citizens, and not by geopolitical and non-state agendas. The international community bears an immense responsibility to help Lebanon seize this moment. Only then can the Lebanese claim justice and Lebanon reclaim itself. Lynn Zovighian is a philanthropist, humanitarian diplomat, and founder of the Zovighian Public Office, partnering with communities facing genocide and crises in the Middle East and South Caucasus through research, culture, and diplomacy. She is also co-founder of the Zovighian Partnership. The views expressed in this article are the writer's own.
New York Post
a day ago
- New York Post
Media still undercounting return-to-office phenomenon
The media continues to absurdly undercount, downplay or misunderstand the return-to-office phenomenon, although the surge should be obvious from the current leasing frenzy and from crowds on the street. For example, Crain's last week questioned whether the 345 Park Ave. murders would 'impact the city's already stagnant return-to-office rates.' The story based its 'stagnant' claim partly on the Partnership for New York City's supposed finding that only '57% of Manhattan office workers had returned on the average workday.' 3 The Midtown shooting happened at 345 Park Ave. AFP via Getty Images 3 An NYPD police officer stands at the shattered glass entrance to 345 Park Avenue after the shooting. John Angelillo/UPI/Shutterstock 3 NYC office capacity was never full — even during pre-COVID times. Tierney – That — like many similar off-base readings of data — made it sound as if Manhattan offices that were full before 2020 are now barely more than half full. What the Partnership actually said in March was that 57% of workers in offices at the time 'equates to 76% of respondents' pre-pandemic attendance.' In other words, pre-pandemic offices were not 100% occupied — they never were — but 75% occupied. That's because 57 is 76% of 75. The 19% difference between 76% and 57% is much less than an alleged 43% gap between 100% and 57%. And with so many CEO's calling their staffs back, the 19% gap can only continue to shrink further.
