Since Sept. 2, the U.S. military has been attacking boats in the Caribbean Sea and eastern Pacific Ocean that the Trump administration says are smuggling drugs, killing dozens of people. A broad range of legal specialists on the use of lethal force have said that the strikes are illegal extrajudicial killings because the military is not permitted to deliberately target civilians — even suspected criminals — who do not pose an imminent threat of violence.

This is a drastic departure from past practice. The Coast Guard, with assistance from the Navy, has typically treated maritime drug smuggling in the Caribbean as a law enforcement problem, interdicting boats and arresting people for prosecution if suspicions of illicit cargo turn out to be correct.

The White House has said the killings are lawful. It cited a notice to Congress in which the administration said President Trump “determined” that the United States is in a formal armed conflict with drug cartels and that crews of drug-running boats are “combatants.” It has not supplied a legal theory to bridge the conceptual gulf between drug trafficking and an armed attack.

The New York Times is tracking the boat strikes as details become available. The strike locations and casualty figures are drawn from postings by Mr. Trump or Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth, and have not been independently confirmed by The Times.

PEORIA, Ill. (AP) — A jury on Wednesday convicted an Illinois sheriff’s deputy of second-degree murder, a lesser charge, in the shooting death of Sonya Massey, a Black woman who called 911 to report a suspected prowler.

Watch Massey’s family and supporters speak after the verdict in the video player above.

Sean Grayson could be sentenced to up to 20 years in prison or even probation. The jury did not convict him of first-degree murder, a crime that carries a sentence of 45 years to life.

Massey’s supporters were angered by the result. Her father, James Wilburn, called it a “miscarriage of justice.”

WATCH: Activists demand reform and justice after deputy shoots and kills Sonya Massey in her home

“She called for help and she was murdered in her own home. … Second-degree murder — that is not right. That is not justice for anybody’s family,” Teresa Haley, a civil rights activist in Springfield, Illinois, told reporters outside the courthouse.

Grayson and another deputy arrived at Massey’s home in Springfield early on July 6, 2024, after she reported a prowler. He shot the 36-year-old woman after confronting her about how she was handling a pot of hot water on the stove.

Grayson and his attorneys argued that he fired his gun in fear that Massey would scald him with hot water.

Massey’s killing raised new questions about U.S. law enforcement shootings of Black people in their homes, and prompted a change in Illinois law requiring fuller transparency on the background of candidates for law enforcement jobs.

Grayson, 31, was charged with first-degree murder, but the jury was given the option of considering second-degree murder, which can apply when a defendant faces a “serious provocation” or believes their action is justified even if that belief is unreasonable. He will be sentenced on Jan. 29.

State’s Attorney John Milhiser declined to comment as he left the courtroom. He was repeatedly praised by Massey’s supporters for pursuing a trial that was moved 75 miles (120.7 kilometers) north to the Peoria County courthouse because of intense publicity in Springfield.

Defense attorney Daniel Fultz declined comment after the verdict.

“While we believe Grayson’s actions deserved a first-degree conviction, today’s verdict is still a measure of justice for Sonya Massey,” the family’s attorneys, Ben Crump and Antonio Romanucci, said after the seven-day trial.

Body camera video recorded by another Sangamon County sheriff’s deputy at the scene, Dawson Farley, was a key part of the prosecution’s case. It showed Massey, who struggled with mental health issues, telling the officers, “Don’t hurt me,” and repeating, “Please God.”

When the deputies entered the house, Grayson saw the pot on the stove and ordered Massey to move it. Massey jumped up to retrieve the pot, and she and Grayson joked about how he said he was backing off from the “hot, steaming water.” Massey then replied, “I rebuke you in the name of Jesus.”

Both Grayson and Farley drew their pistols and yelled at Massey to put the pot down. Grayson told investigators he thought her “rebuke” meant she intended to kill him and, in the following commotion, fired three shots, striking Massey just below the eye.

Farley testified that Massey didn’t say or do anything that caused him to view her as a threat. But under cross-examination, he acknowledged that he initially reported to investigators that he feared for his safety because of the hot water. Farley did not fire his weapon and was not charged.

Grayson, who was subsequently fired, testified in his own defense. He told jurors he noticed the bottom of the pot was red and he believed Massey planned to throw the water at him. He said Massey’s words felt like a threat and that he drew his gun because officers are trained to use force to get compliance.

“She done. You can go get it, but that’s a head shot,” Grayson told Farley after the shooting. “There’s nothing you can do, man.”

Grayson relented moments later and went to get his kit while Farley found dish towels to apply pressure to the head wound. When Grayson returned, Farley told him his help wasn’t necessary, so he threw his kit on the floor and said, “I’m not even gonna waste my med stuff then.”

Massey’s death forced the early retirement of the sheriff who hired Grayson and generated a U.S. Justice Department inquiry. The federal probe was resolved with Sangamon County Sheriff’s Department’s agreement to fortify training, particularly de-escalation practices; develop a program in which mental health professionals can respond to emergency calls; and to generate data on use-of-force incidents.

Massey’s family settled a lawsuit against the county for $10 million, and state lawmakers changed Illinois law to require fuller transparency on the background of candidates for law enforcement jobs.

Utah and California have passed laws requiring entities to disclose when they use AI. More states are considering similar legislation. Proponents say labels make it easier for people who don’t like AI to opt out of using it.

“They just want to be able to know,” says Utah Department of Commerce executive director Margaret Woolley Busse, who is implementing new state laws requiring state-regulated businesses to disclose when they use AI with their customers.

“If that person wants to know if it’s human or not, they can ask. And the chatbot has to say.”

California passed a similar law regarding chatbots back in 2019. This year it expanded disclosure rules, requiring police departments to specify when they use AI products to help write incident reports.

“I think AI in general and police AI in specific really thrives in the shadows, and is most successful when people don’t know that it’s being used,” says Matthew Guariglia, a senior policy analyst for the Electronic Frontier Foundation, which supported the new law. “I think labeling and transparency is really the first step.”

As an example, Guariglia points to San Francisco, which now requires all city departments to report publicly how and when they use AI.

Such localized regulations are the kind of thing the Trump Administration has tried to head off. White House “AI Czar” David Sacks has referred to a “state regulatory frenzy that is damaging the startup ecosystem.”

Daniel Castro, with the industry-supported think tank Information Technology & Innovation Foundation, says AI transparency can be good for markets and democracy, but it may also slow innovation.

“You can think of an electrician that wants to use AI to help communicate with his or her customers … to answer queries about when they’re available,” Castro says. If companies have to disclose the use of AI, he says, “maybe that turns off the customers and they don’t really want to use it anymore.”

For Kara Quinn, a homeschool teacher in Bremerton, Wash., slowing down the spread of AI seems appealing.

“Part of the issue, I think, is not just the thing itself; it’s how quickly our lives have changed,” she says. “There may be things that I would buy into if there were a lot more time for development and implementation.”

At the moment, she’s changing email addresses because her longtime provider recently started summarizing the contents of her messages with AI.

“Who decided that I don’t get to read what another human being wrote? Who decides that this summary is actually what I’m going to think of their email?” Quinn says. “I value my ability to think. I don’t want to outsource it.”

Quinn’s attitude to AI caught the attention of her sister-in-law, Ann-Elise Quinn, a supply chain analyst who lives in Washington, D.C. She’s been holding “salons” for friends and acquaintances who want to discuss the implications of AI, and Kara Quinn’s objections to the technology inspired the theme of a recent session.

“How do we opt out if we want to?” she asks. “Or maybe [people] don’t want to opt out, but they want to be consulted, at the very least.”