Amid a sweeping crackdown on dissent in Egypt, security forces have forcibly disappeared hundreds of people since the beginning of 2015, according to a new report from Amnesty International.

It's an "unprecedented spike," the group says, with an average of three or four people disappeared every day.

The Republican Party, as it prepares for its convention next week has checked off item No. 1 on its housekeeping list — drafting a party platform. The document reflects the conservative views of its authors, many of whom are party activists. So don't look for any concessions to changing views among the broader public on key social issues.

Many public figures who took to Twitter and Facebook following the murder of five police officers in Dallas have faced public blowback and, in some cases, found their employers less than forgiving about inflammatory and sometimes hateful online comments.

As Venezuela unravels — with shortages of food and medicine, as well as runaway inflation — President Nicolas Maduro is increasingly unpopular. But he's still holding onto power.

"The truth in Venezuela is there is real hunger. We are hungry," says a man who has invited me into his house in the northwestern city of Maracaibo, but doesn't want his name used for fear of reprisals by the government.

The wiry man paces angrily as he speaks. It wasn't always this way, he says, showing how loose his pants are now.

Ask a typical teenage girl about the latest slang and girl crushes and you might get answers like "spilling the tea" and Taylor Swift. But at the Girl Up Leadership Summit in Washington, D.C., the answers were "intersectional feminism" — the idea that there's no one-size-fits-all definition of feminism — and U.N. climate chief Christiana Figueres.

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Arizona Hispanics Poised To Swing State Blue

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Editor's note: This report contains accounts of rape, violence and other disturbing events.

Sex trafficking wasn't a major concern in the early 1980s, when Beth Jacobs was a teenager. If you were a prostitute, the thinking went, it was your choice.

Jacobs thought that too, right up until she came to, on the lot of a dark truck stop one night. She says she had asked a friendly-seeming man for a ride home that afternoon.

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Jun 7, 2013

The door slam is meant to be symbolic, I can tell, one last "take that!" in our roiling argument. But that door never did fit right in the frame, so it swings back open, revealing the heel of his departing shoe and the flick of his coat as he swings around the corner. I hear his footfalls stop, and imagine him pondering a return to slam the door, for real this time. But he resumes his noisy departure, each stomp echoing in my mind as "so there, so there, so there." As he descends the apartment building stairway I think I hear a guttural growl of release or frustration, but that might be coming from a neighbor's place, or my imagination, or the crazy dude who haunts our lobby sometimes because we have no doorman.

I close the heavy door with the aid of an extra push from my hip. It is in this position, perpendicular to the door, that I spy a small black piece of plastic, half-tucked under our neglected stove. I am dumb with disbelief, to find it now? He'd torn through every piece of luggage or sack or purse in our place, including all the internal pockets of all my handbags, remarking with bewildering irritation that I should need so many tampons. He'd crawled over the floor with his nose an inch off the wood like he was inspecting for bedbugs. All of our furniture he'd upended.

It did us in, this little piece of plastic I now hold between my finger and thumb, squeezing it as if to test its very existence. I'd gotten bored with the search after the first hour, and suggested that it really wasn't so important after all, that surely he could just rewrite the last twenty pages of his novel, and anyway, isn't this a good lesson in remembering to back up your work in more than one place?

I thought he might hit me. I saw the notion of it cross his mind in his widening eyes, the intake of breath and the angle forward of his shoulders. As my body pumped out fear hormones, my mind thought, Good, smack me one, then I can leave you. Instead he stepped back, his eyes going from an aggressive roundness to the narrow sneer I had grown accustomed to. "Oh sure, I'll just whip it right up. Would you like fries with that? Oh, I'm sorry, I mean natural cut chips?"

My shift at the deli started in fifteen minutes. My hairnet was in my pocket. He turned away to resume the ransacking of our place, which he never did clean up. I was the one who set the furniture back to rights, and sealed up everything he'd ripped open, when I got home from working six hours steeped in the smell of onions and salty meat slices.

I perform a quarter-turn to our kitchen sink, let the last twenty pages of his novel drop, and flip the switch which I assume is the garbage disposal, never having used it before. I turn my face to avoid potential shrapnel as my phone chimes for a text.

If you find the flash drive, mail it to my parents, he commands.

I reply as the crunching of the disposal becomes a high-pitched, empty whine: Would you like that with natural cut chips?

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